Only On Vacation
by bconn369
Summary: While Mary's on vacation, Marshall has time to think about things...maybe too much time. And was Mary really listening to him before she left? Read on and see...
1. Chapter 1: In the night

After seeing the season 3 finale, and discussing it with my buddy BuJyo and other IPS fans, I decided that this was the logical progession of events in my opinion. It starts right before the end of the finale. If you haven't seen the season 3 finale, you may want to not read further...unless you like spoilers...in which case, knock yourself out! Hope y'all like it!

**Disclaimer:** I, of course, do not own IPS or any of the characters. But I would like to borrow Marshall every once in a while...

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_The scene was breathtaking. Golden light from the sunset turned everything it touched into something mystical, romantic, and warm. The majesty of the waves crashing against the shore could be both seen and heard from her viewpoint, and the warmth of the day still lingered in the coming evening._

"_May I interest you in a drink before dinner? Champagne? Or…a sex on the beach?" _

_Mary turned from her balcony view to the young man at the tray, smiling coyly, her long hair still damp and draped over a bare shoulder._

_"You can interest me in many things, Jorge."_

_He chuckled. "It's Enrique."_

_"Uh huh. Many things. Sex on the beach being at the top of the list," she replied, walking over to the tray he'd just finished preparing, still smiling. "Get back to me when you've taken your SATs." _

_"When you're done, just call. I'll be glad to come back." She signed the bill and handed it to him, and he took it with a grin._

_"I'll bear that in mind," she told him with a flirtatious smirk. She watched him walk away and sighed as she ate a piece of fruit. "Nicest place." She walked back to the balcony, gazing once more out on the scene._

_"You know," started the half-naked man walking out from the bathroom, tucking the end of his towel in, "I-I can't decide if it's merely disconcerting or simply pathetic."_

_"What?" Mary asked with a shrug as she stared at Faber's bare back. "What are you talking about?"_

_"That routine you were doing with the cabana boy." He came over towards her with a bottle of wine and leaned on the tray. _

_"First of all," she began, meeting him at the tray, "there was no routine."_

_"Oh, please, he may as well have been delivering pizza."_

_"Secondly, there was no cabana boy, that was room service, and his name was Jorge."_

_"Enrique."_

_"Whatever."_

_"And there's no SATs in Mexico," he murmured as she leaned towards him._

_"And third, had there been a cabana boy, you wouldn't be the one in front of me in a towel, he would. And minus the towel."_

_He started slightly, but recovered quickly. "I'm stunned, Kitten."_

_She smiled. "Could you kinda knock it off with the 'Kitten'?"_

_He picked up the wine bottle again. "I think this has had enough time to breathe, don't you?"_

_She snorted in derision. "I can't believe I'm in Mexico with a guy who lets his drinks breathe."_

_"Oh, you know what? Gimme a break."_

_She stopped and pointed a finger at him. "Wait. You want me to give you a break?"_

_"Yeah," he purred, leaning towards her. "I want you to give me a break."_

_She slid her arms around his neck. "God, you're an idiot."_

_"Oh, shut up."_

_"You shut up."_

_And then they were kissing, mouths meeting, breath tangling, her fingers in his hair, his hands running across her body. The passion, the tension between them swirling, building, the wine completely forgotten as they became lost in each other as the sun continued to set gently over the ocean._

Marshall jerked awake with a frantic cry, shooting to a sitting position, panting as he tried to regain his bearings. He could feel the sweat through his night shirt, felt the dampness on his face, in his hair. So real…it had all been so terrifyingly real. His eyes darted all across the room, trying to make sense of the darkness. Gradually, his mind caught up with him in his sleepy, sluggish state and he started to relax. He swore to himself and sat back against the headboard, rubbing his hands over his face.

Mary. Mexico. _Faber_. His stomach churned and his fists clenched.

She wouldn't do that…would she?

_She might_, he thought with dread. _What had she said? "Find a bar, do some cowboy."…_

He swore again as he felt a bit of panic rise again. Without stopping to think, he grabbed his phone off his nightstand and dialed the number he knew by heart, his pulse pounding madly as he waited for her to pick up.

She'd kill him. He could deal with that. He had to know.

A sound that wouldn't have passed for a greeting in any language met his ears from the other end of the line, but there was only one woman in the world who could make that sound.

"Mare!" he gasped, trying not to sound as relieved as he felt. What if Faber had answered? "Thank God, you have no idea—"

"Marshall?" the groggy, slightly hoarse voice said slowly. "What the-?"

"Is Faber there with you?" he blurted out suddenly. What if he were only sleeping on the bed next to her? What if they hadn't been sleeping? His stomach plummeted at the thought.

"….what?"

He gritted his teeth, trying to stay calm. "Tell me Faber's not there with you."

"Marshall, did you get tangled in your dino pajamas again?" she asked, her voice clearer, and very clearly very irritated. "Why the hell would Faber be in Hawaii with me?"

Hawaii. Not Mexico. No Faber. Relief washed over him so heavily that he felt almost woozy. He was tempted to laugh for the sudden joy he felt.

But then… He silently swore at himself again. He was in for it.

"And _why_ in the _hell_ are you calling me at—" she paused, probably to check the clock. "—one-frickin-thirty-seven in the morning?"

"I—"

"Vacation, Marshall. No working, no thinking, only sleeping and drinking. And maybe a bit of gambling with the grandpas on the beach, but only cuz they catcalled and I didn't have a gun to shoot them. If you miss me that much, call me when I'm coherent. Good night!"

"Wait, Mary—"

Click.

He looked down at his phone and sighed heavily. He was going to apologize, but there would be time for that later. If she would take it.

He put his phone back down and sat back against the wall, closing his eyes. She was alone in Hawaii. Of course, that didn't necessarily mean she wasn't "doing some cowboy", as she so tactfully put it, but at least it wasn't Faber.

He couldn't keep doing this to himself, seeing her with some other guy and panicking, feeling surges of anger and jealousy whenever the word "cowboy" came up. He'd tried to explain how he felt to her before she'd left, but either she hadn't gotten the message or she didn't want to.

"Maybe messy is what you need," he'd said. He had seen how still she'd become at those words, at the rest of what he'd said, whatever it had been. He couldn't even remember now, beyond that. All he'd known was that he was trying to point every single finger, sign, and billboard in her mind to him. The fact that he didn't know what she was thinking was driving him insane.

Groaning, he forced himself out of bed. There was no use trying to go back to sleep at 5:40 in the morning. He'd be getting up relatively soon anyway. Maybe he'd get a good workout in, vent his frustrations through cardiovascular exertion and sweat, clear his head a little.

Then, after that, maybe he'd have a better idea of what to do next...when Mary got home.

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**Duh duh DUHHHHHH...it was a dream! Of COURSE it was, we all knew that! Anyway, be kind. Please review. It makes me smile.**


	2. Chapter 2: The morning after

Yay for chapter 2! Thanks to slumbajam for helping me with the craziness! Enjoy!

As always, I do not own nor make money from IPS. Obviously.

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The coffee wasn't nearly as good as it smelled, which was a shame, considering that Mary really REALLY needed some good coffee this morning. Whatever sleep she had achieved the night before did not seem to have been nearly the amount her body, mainly her head, was demanding. Drinking mystery cocktails with locals and getting panicked phone calls from insecure partners in the middle of the night would do that to a woman.

"Stupid Marshall," she muttered as she swiped a few of the danishes from the counter of continental breakfast choices. She could have gone into the hotel restaurant for some decent breakfast foods, which smelled amazing, but she had a phone call to make. If she needed a good, heavy, meat-laden omelet afterwards, then so be it. Vacation entitled her to as many breakfasts as she wanted.

Sitting down at a vacant table on the veranda and taking a bite of an apple danish, she dialed Marshall's number, ready to rip into him like there was no tomorrow. She almost felt sorry for the guy.

But not really.

"Stan's Fun House of Dwarves, Dopey speaking."

She smiled slightly, making a note to ask what prompted _that_ quirky greeting.

"Guess what happened to me last night while on my apparently much-needed vacation."

She heard a chair screech and a few muttered curses.

"Mary, I—"

"So I'm sleeping, right? Cuz that's what people do on vacation," she overrode, not even trying to keep the irritation out of her voice. "And I get this crazy phone call from a delusional maniac who seems to think I have a fed in bed with me, which is weird, cuz it wouldn't even be his business if I _did_ have a fed in my bed, and the strange part was that it wasn't just any fed supposedly in my bed, but a very particular fed who actually _wants_ to be in my bed, and if you make me say fed and bed in the same sentence again, I will shoot you through this phone."

She was met with silence from the other end, which was not encouraging.

"Well?" she asked in exasperation, taking another bite of her Danish, which wasn't that good, but it would do for now.

"I'm trying to stop likening you to Dr. Seuss at the moment. Can you hang on for a second?"

"Dammit, Marshall, you owe me an explanation, now give it to me."

He sighed. "I know. I just—I just wanted to make sure that you were using your vacation time wisely, and, given past experiences with Agent Faber, I was concerned that—"

"Stop with the BS, strap on a set, and be a man. What the hell was that all about, Marshall?" She took quick drink of her now lukewarm, average-tasting coffee and grimaced.

"Fine. Fine. You wanna know?"

"Yeah, I wanna know!" she responded, mimicking his words in a whiney voice.

"OK." She heard him take a deep breath, and then: "I had a dream that you were in Mexico taunting a room service boy with your sexual wiles and then Faber walked in half dressed and you two went at it like a couple of Rottweilers in a junkyard after a honey ham."

He'd said it so fast she had to replay it all in her head before she could decipher anything, and then it didn't take long, considering the shocking absence of typical Marshall-esque words that only made sense in encyclopedias. A dream? Was he serious? He'd called her about all of this…because of a dream?

"Mary," he said slowly, and she could hear the anxiety, borderline concern, in his voice.

"My sexual wiles?" she asked in confusion.

"Oh, for God's sake, of everything that just came out of my mouth, _that_ is what you choose to fixate on?"

"Well, I'm a little anxious about your witnessing my supposed sexual wiles, Marshall!" she said in exasperation. She put her elbow on the table, and huffed. "Does this happen often, Marshall? Are you fantasizing about me?"

"What? No! Mary, c'mon, no." His answer was both quick and sharp, almost too quick. And there was a definite note of panic in it, besides the fact that it was about three octaves too high.

But she couldn't afford to dwell on that just yet, so she stored it in the back of her mind for later. "Was it working? Was the kid worth it? Did I look hot?"

"I'm hanging up."

She held up a finger, as if he could see it. "You are not! I'm not through with you yet, buster, and don't even pretend that you don't owe me."

"I've already bought you a pie and it's waiting for your voracious appetite in my fridge."

She grunted. He knew how to get to her. "Not what I meant, but I accept, now get back to the story. You called me in the middle of the night, panicked like a little girl, over a dream?"

"It's not so uncommon for a dream to feel like a reality. In many cultures, dreams are a major source of revelation and insight, and the more authentic the dream seems, the more gifted the dreamer as a resource for those around him. And many scholars believe the nightm-dreams that instill a worry or fear should not be ignored, as the subconscious may be trying to inspire us to actual events in the future."

"Were you just going to say nightmare?" Mary asked, pouncing on the word instantly. "You had a dream about my sexual wiles, and you're calling it a nightmare?" That was oddly offensive.

She heard Marshall swear again and imagined him running a hand over his face in frustration. "The nightmare was Faber half naked in your room, Mare, not your promiscuous attire and behavior."

"So you liked my sexual wiles," she taunted with a grin.

"Stop saying sexual wiles."

"You said it first."

"And I regret it bitterly."

"So you called me in the middle of the night…because you had a nightmare… about my sleeping with Faber?" She spoke slowly, not for his benefit, but for her own, as she tried to fit those puzzle pieces together in her mind. It didn't actually make sense, but then, it was Marshall.

"In Mexico, yes."

"Huh."

"Excuse me? What is 'huh'?"

" 'Huh' is 'huh'," she replied with a shrug he wouldn't see. "What's the big deal, you always get my 'huh's."

"I can't see your face, and so deciphering this particular 'huh' is not as easy for me, although I am sure I could accomplish it with additional time, but I am not willing to put forth the effort necessary when I really have no idea why you used it, so you might as well just elaborate yourself."

Mary opted to give in to him just this one time. "I just don't understand the panic attack. Why not wait until I was awake or _you_ were awake or ask Stan, he knew where I was."

"He said you paid him not to tell me."

"I did, but that's besides the point, since I paid him not to tell anyone."

"Not entirely beside the point, but I'll give it to you, considering the extenuating circumstances of your family."

She smirked momentarily. "But why the emergency call?"

"I already told you I was worried. It seems irrational to both of us now, but at the time it was pure instinct. You weren't having the dream, you don't know how real it felt."

"No, because if I had been having the dream, it would not have been so real because if I had to bang a fed on vacation, I'd choose one a lot more fun than Faber, the man's got more baggage than American Airlines."

"And this coming from the woman who inspired the phrase 'commitment-phobe'." The wry amusement coming through the phone couldn't hide the relief. He had really believed the dream, and she knew, and she was fairly certain he knew she knew.

"Hey, that's enough about my emotional constipation, thank you, back to dreams. So big deal, you had a dream about me that left you squirming. You could have called me at a reasonable human hour."

"I'll repeat, you weren't there, you don't know how real it felt. You're my partner. We look out for each other, even on vacation."

"Right, no, that I get that, but here's what I don't get: you were literally freaked."

"Mary—"

"I mean, I had a dream about you getting totally trashed in a bar full of coeds, wearing nothing but your Mickey Mouse boxers, standing on the counter, and singing Cyndi Lauper at the top of your lungs, but you didn't see me calling you in the middle of the night, did you?" She hesitated, then added: "You didn't actually do that, right?"

"Of course, I didn't, don't be ridiculous. And you didn't call me because had that actually happened, you would have recorded the whole thing and used it for blackmail, and then mocked me about it incessantly until I no longer had teeth."

She grinned and sat back. "Damn straight, I would. But still, it was a rather frightening experience."

"I can't help but be curious…Which part?"

"All of it. The boxers were up there, but I think the Cyndi Lauper tops the list."

"For future reference, I don't know the words to any Cyndi Lauper song. And if you are going to dream about me in my unmentionables, don't dream them to be Disney characters. I have better taste."

"Oh, how mysterious. What are they?" She spun her coffee cup on the table and crossed her fingers.

"Not having this conversation." She winced and snapped her fingers. Oh well. Someday she'd find out.

"So, Mare… Am I forgiven?"

She cocked her head. "I'm considering it."

"What's there to consider?"

"Why are you Dopey? That sounds like a fun story."

"It is indeed, but I want you to come back, so I will save it for your return."

"Devious man." She popped the last bit of Danish into her mouth and looked out over the view, sighing in contentment.

"That was almost a happy sound," Marshall said, his voice finally back to normal. "What are you doing?"

"Oh, just drinking my mediocre coffee and eating the cheap continental danishes while enjoying a spectacular view of the ocean."

"You're in Hawaii and you're eating cheap hotel danishes for breakfast?" He almost sounded offended. "You need to learn how to vacation right!"

"What's the deal? I just wanted to munch while talking with you, it's not like this is my real breakfast, and you like danishes. You eat them all the time, you buy them yourself instead of copping them from hotel continental breakfasts. What gives? Moron."

"Do me a favor. After we're done, go get an omelet or Belgian waffles or some local fare. Be extravagant with your breakfast, ok?"

She sighed heavily. "Fine, ok, so I suck at vacation. I bet my local beach grandpas would help me find some decent grub."

"I wanted to ask you about that after you stopped yelling at me. Did you say you were gambling with those grandpas?"

"Yeah, I did. So?"

"Mary, gambling is illegal in Hawaii. You can't even do it on Hawaiian cruises."

"Oh, for crying out loud, Marshall, we gambled with alcoholic beverages and were betting on wanna-be surfers, we didn't even have cards, get a grip." He was such a mother hen sometimes.

He chuckled softly, which surprised her.

"What?" she barked.

"It's just really good to hear your voice, Mare."

She couldn't help it; she smiled. "You too, Doofus."

"When are you coming home?"

"In a few days. Salt water smells weird, not sure how long I can take it, but Stan says he'll shoot me if I'm there before Thursday."

"I believe him. I'll try to stop him, but…." He trailed off and let it hang. Then he didn't say anything else for a long time.

"Uh, Marshall?" she asked, wondering if the line had been disconnected or if he was intentionally being awkward.

"Mary," he started, hesitation nearly palpable, "do you remember what I said to you before you left?"

She stilled, her heart plummeting into her stomach and swimming around in there. "Yeah."

He waited. "And?" he finally prodded.

She bit her lip and closed her eyes. "Still thinking."

After a long – meaning _really_ long—moment he sighed. "Ok. Just promise me you really are."

"I am," she said softly. "We'll talk when I get back, ok?"

"Ok. Now go have yourself a real breakfast and try not to get arrested. I don't want to come bail you out of some Hawaiian jail if I can't stay and play a while."

"Deal. In fact, I smell some pretty awesome pancakes coming from the restaurant. Wonder if they have bacon in there too, or just pineapple. Damn, I'm starving. I can't believe I'm still talking to you when there's fresh carbs to be had."

"There's my girl, go eat your pancakes and bacon, and get some better coffee. I've heard that the Loco Moco, which is a breakfast meal of rice, hamburger, gravy, fried egg, and onion, is quite delicious. Try that as well."

She sighed. "I love it when you talk food."

"I know you do. Call me when you land, I'll pick you up."

"Will do, thanks, Cowboy."

He didn't say anything at first, and then he said, quietly and without emotion, "You're welcome, Mary. Bye."

"Bye," she replied, staring at her phone in confusion. What was that all about? She replayed the words in her head and groaned. _Cowboy_. What in hell had possessed her to use that word? Now _she_'d have to explain _her_self.

"_Maybe messy is what you need."_ His voice echoed in her head and she shifted uncomfortably. She did hate messy. A lot. In a way she hated very few things.

But for all the hatred, she couldn't help thinking that maybe, just maybe, it might be exciting, too.

There was a whole hell of a lot to consider. And the next few days would be full of consideration, and fighting with herself, and replaying conversations. Hopefully she'd have an answer when she got back.

Because she knew exactly what Marshall had been saying.

And she was very afraid that she agreed with him.

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**Please review! And leave suggestions, if you'd like. I'm still new at this game. Thanks!**


	3. Chapter 3: Let me explain

_Cowboy? She'd really called him that?_

He couldn't take her seriously, not really. She hadn't meant it. But even so, in her terms, a cowboy was a nameless, faceless male who could satisfy without expectations or demands. Someone who didn't care for commitment or anything deeper than physical gratification. Someone who would leave in the morning, wouldn't think about her later, wouldn't care if she called again.

In other words, it was not Marshall Mann, and he sincerely hoped that Mary knew that. She should.

He sat back in his chair and laced his fingers behind his head, looking blankly over at his partner's vacant desk. It was astonishing how empty a place could feel when only one person had left it. There were no sarcastic jibes, no insults to his appearance, intelligence, physical abilities, or vocabulary, no snarky retorts about witnesses or the general stupidity of humanity, no glares, stares, or smirks in his general direction.

Some might have called the change nice.

Marshall hated it.

He hated that there was only Stan and Charlie and Eleanor for company. He hated that there were moments where he would think of something only Mary would get, only to remember that she wasn't there. He hated not seeing her, even if she was in one of her frequent "pissed at the world" moods, because he knew how to kick her out of them, or at least, how to keep her from killing anyone. He hated not knowing where she was, or what she was doing, or who she was with. He hated that he was alone.

He hated that he was bored.

Mary needed a vacation, he knew that. It didn't mean that he liked it. He would much rather have her here, in front of him, making his world a little more difficult and a lot more enjoyable.

Cowboy? Hardly. He cared more about Mary than any partner ever should. He thought about her when he shouldn't think about her. And he was fairly certain that, after his conversation with her that morning, she knew it too.

Because he did dream about her. Often. He had done so for a long time. Over the last few months, however, it seemed to be occurring with an alarming frequency. And the dreams were changing. Where before they had ranged from random nothingness to frantic searches on his part for her to reliving anxious moments in the hospital, now they were becoming personal, physical, and yes, on occasion, even promiscuous. Those terrified him the most.

And those were the mornings where he considered not coming to work, simply because he didn't know how to face her after the dreams he'd had.

But inevitably, he would come, because being without Mary was far worse than any awkwardness he could feel in being with Mary. Such was her charm, and her hold on him.

And last night hadn't been the first time he'd woken up in a panic. He had quite a number of dreams, particularly after her kidnapping and shooting incidents, where the hellish reality was relived in his dreams to varying degrees. Once he couldn't find her, couldn't do anything to help her, but he'd been able to hear her, hear them, hear everything. More than once, he'd been too late to save her, and had only been able to hold her lifeless body in his arms. After her shooting, the dreams had been dark to a new intensity. Many were hospital dreams, where they couldn't stop her bleeding, and he'd watched her die before his eyes. Others were that they – he—had not been able to reach her in time, and he'd heard mocking laughter in his head, ringing out as he found her on that sidewalk, cold as ice.

And there had been others. Others that were not based on any reality, but were just as terrifying because they had no resolution. There was no relief to be had. When he woke from those nightmares, he was not able to remind himself that they had saved Mary, that she was safe, that the terror was over. Those nights were spent pacing the floor of nearly every room, anxiously trying to dissuade himself from driving over to her house and assuring himself that she was safe. He had actually made it to his car a total of five times before giving up and waiting for daylight on his couch. He had always been able to talk himself out of those rash actions he considered, because he knew Mary would flay him alive for being so overprotective.

He couldn't help it any more than he could help loving her.

And that was why his current dreams worried him. If these feelings and dreams of his weren't going to come to fruition, there was no way he could continue on this manner, watching her, waiting for her, wishing…

He sighed and stretched his arms over his head, working out the kinks that sitting at a desk all day inevitably brought. He'd somehow managed to be actively engaged in various endeavors all day, and so he'd been able to avoid these deep contemplations on his partner and his growing need for her. Distraction helped ease the burdens of his mind, but only slightly. It was difficult to ignore them. Everything was better with Mary around, even if she was grumpy, mouthy, insulting, and tactless. She was still his Mary, even when he didn't understand why she was.

"Still here, Marshall?" Stan asked as he came out of his office, leaving for the day, no doubt.

"Yeah, I was just finishing up some stuff," he said, sitting forward and shuffling papers on his desk.

"Uh huh." Stan eyed him carefully, but said nothing else.

Marshall maintained his careful poker face. "You haven't seen the file on the Renauldo case, have you?" he asked, thumbing through his files again.

"No," Stan grunted, still watching him, "but I think Mary had it before she left. Check her things, if you dare." He chuckled darkly.

"I don't have a death wish," Marshall said, raising his hands in surrender. "It can wait until she gets back. When do you expect her?"

Something flashed across Stan's expression and he smiled more than a little knowingly. "If she's back before Thursday, I told her I would shoot her."

"She said that."

"Oh, so you talked to her?"

Crap. Marshall winced inwardly and leaned forward, arms on his desk. "Yeah, she, uh, called me this morning."

"About?"

"Just checking up on a few things." He shrugged nonchalantly. At least, he hoped it was nonchalantly. "Mary doesn't like vacation. Said she wanted to come back sooner, and that the salt water smelled funny."

Stan snorted and shook his head. "She would. Well, she doesn't have to stay in-" he hesitated.

"Hawaii," Marshall interjected without thinking.

"Oh, you know? Damn, now I owe her ten bucks. Yeah, Hawaii. She doesn't have to stay there, she just can't be here. You can tell her that if she calls again." He sighed. "But after a morning like we had, I almost wish she had been here."

"I do wish she was here," Marshall said with a grin. "Five kids under the age of six? She would have had a field day."

"And you and I would be trying to hide the bodies right about now."

"Undoubtedly."

Stan shouldered his bag and nodded to him. "Well, have a nice night. See you in the morning."

"Good night, Stan."

Marshall chuckled as Stan left the office. It had been an entertaining day, and he couldn't wait to tell Mary about it.

Just then, his cell rang, vibrating against his desk. He frowned, wondering who would be calling him. He checked the screen.

_Mary_.

"Uh oh," he muttered. Maybe she decided not to forgive him after all. More than a little apprehensive, he answered. "Hey, you forget to say something earlier?"

"Shut up and listen, doofus," she bit out and he stilled, waiting for the attack. "Just because I happen to call you Cowboy does not mean that I lump you in with the rest of the yayhoos that run around the world, all right?"

He jerked in his seat and his eyes widened. How could she possibly…

"I mean, really, Marshall? Are you that sensitive? Ok, I know I could have used a better word, but gimme a break. You wear boots and you're a marshal and you _are_ practically a cowboy, but not one of _those _cowboys, ok? Seriously, John Wayne and Clint Eastwood were cowboys, too."

"Actors," he murmured, still in shock. "They are actors, Mare."

"Well, duh, nitwit, but they played cowboys a lot! Seriously, they're on AMC all the time for westerns. But just because I happen to use that word a lot and in a lot of ways doesn't mean that you get to choose the wrong way to interpret, all right? Do you understand?"

He smiled softly. "Yeah, I think so, Mare. But did you really call me about some offhand comment you made this morning? I mean, it wasn't even insulting. You've doled out worse things than that on my birthdays."

There was a moment of silence, in which he was positive he could hear her squirm. "Well, yeah. I could hear that you didn't like it and I felt bad."

"Really?" A warm feeling flooded his chest and his smile grew.

She huffed. "Oh for cryin' out loud, I do feel bad sometimes, Marshall. Give me a little credit."

"I know you do, I'm sorry. I just didn't think you'd think anything of it."

"Normally, I wouldn't. But it's you, Marshall, and I didn't want…" She trailed off and hesitated.

He held his breath. "Didn't want what?" he asked softly.

He heard a small sigh. "I just wanted to make sure you knew that you're not one of _them_, ok? Not to me. You're my partner and the only person on this earth who really gets me and so far above the rest of them it's not even funny. And I'm sorry if my calling you Cowboy offended you."

All of the breath in him rushed out at her words and he closed his eyes. It wasn't exactly what he was looking for, but it was a definite step in the right direction, however impossible it seemed. "It didn't," he managed, somehow keeping his voice calm. "But thanks for checking. It means a lot." It meant a whole hell of a lot more than a lot, but he would take this slow.

"Yeah, sure thing. Just don't let it go to your head, all right?"

He grinned. "Oh, I think it's too late for that, but I'm fairly certain you'll deflate it soon enough."

She grumbled something he didn't catch about a Twinkie, then said, "So I'm kinda digging this whole beach scene."

That surprised him. "Really? Why is that?"

"Well, I can just sit around and read in the sun in this bikini I picked up and whenever I get too warm, there's an ocean in front of me."

He tried very hard not to picture her in the bikini with the ocean water sluicing over her various curves. It didn't work. "So you went swimming today?"

"Uh huh, a few times. One time I even just laid down on the sand and let the waves hit me. It was way cooler than I thought it would be, cuz I've seen that old movie with the couple in the waves, what is it?"

"From Here To Eternity," he gritted out between his clenched teeth. His mind was racing, and he was trying to throw up as many roadblocks as he could, but was failing desperately.

"Yeah, that one. It looks totally lame in that, but it's really not. You should try it."

"Uh huh." He cleared his throat, struggling to rein his thoughts in. She had just unknowingly described one of his most vibrant dreams about her, and he would certainly like to try it, but he highly doubted she would take that suggestion in the right spirit.

"So," he said, changing the subject as quickly as possible, "anything fun planned?"

"Fun's a matter of opinion," she quipped darkly, bringing another smile to his face, "but the hotel's planning this big hooplah thing tomorrow night. Some big local thing, I dunno."

"A luau?"

"Sure. There will probably be strange fish there, unfortunately."

He stifled a laugh. "I imagine so. You are on an island, after all."

"I know that, doofus. I just wish there wouldn't be so much fish."

"Ok, here's question to consider, Mary: why did you go to Hawaii if you don't enjoy the aroma of the salt water or the local variations of indigenous fish?"

"Because it puts a huge body of water between me and anybody I want to shoot."

That seemed fair enough. "And that's your idea of relaxing?"

"Well, it sure as hell seems to work for me."

He couldn't argue with her logic, so didn't attempt to. "You know, the traditional luau feast has much more than just fish. There could be poi, kalua pig, haupia, char siu…"

"Yeah, I understood the pig in that jumble, so that works for me. Anything else?"

"Well, traditionally there's beer, and-"

"Thank God."

"And other various alcoholic beverages, most of which you've probably already had, thanks to your grandpa friends."

"I could get used to this luau business."

He laughed out loud and leaned back in his chair. "Just try not to do anything you'll regret remembering, ok?"

"Shut up, Marshall," she muttered. "So are we good?"

He raised his eyebrows. "We were not good?"

"You know what I mean."

"Ah." He looked over at her desk, sighed, and smiled. "Yeah, Mare. We're good."

"Good." He could hear her hesitating, and he couldn't think why.

"Mare? You ok?"

She made a quiet, frustrated noise. "How do you do that?"

"Do what?"

"Hear inside my head."

"I am a supremely gifted being."

She scoffed. "Well, don't take this the wrong way, your Mighty Supreme-ness, but um...I kinda wish you were here. Is that weird?"

He swallowed with difficulty, and gripped his phone tighter. "No, it's not. I miss you, too."

"'Kay. Bye."

"Bye." He shut his phone and held it for a long moment, thinking over their conversation. She said he was the only person who really got her, which was true. She'd said as much before. But what Mary failed to realize was that she was one of the very few, if not the only, people in this world who understood him. The number of moments that they had shared together, good and bad, had only deepened their relationship, which seemed to be almost symbiotic sometimes. They knew each other, in ways very few people ever understood another human being.

And he knew that, in one way or another, things were changing between them. They were nearing a precipice. The trick would be to see how close to the edge they could get without one or both plummeting off of it.

Or jumping.


	4. Chapter 4: At the luau

This is a shorter chapter, but that's ok, cuz more fun is coming! 3 points to anybody who can see how this chapter ends before it does!

**Disclaimer:** I don't own IPS. Doi.

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This whole vacation business wasn't turning out to be half as bad as Mary had thought it would be. She was sleeping until her body decided it was time to get up, ate whenever she wanted, _what_ever she wanted, and didn't have to worry about a single witness. No sisters called for advice, no mothers called to complain, and no bosses called to tell her bad news.

So, really, it should have been the perfect time for her.

But something was definitely missing.

It was odd, really. Mary was better alone, she knew that, and had always known that. So why was she actually more than a little lonely on this trip? She was getting tired of the harmless flirting from the pups on the beach, the whistles from the old grandpas, the endless hours of no one to talk to. She was supposed to be able to relax and recharge, but all she really wanted was to get back to work.

_Not to work_, a little voice in her head nagged.

She shook her head as she pulled out the sundress she had bought for the party at the hotel tonight and unzipped it. Of course she wanted to get back to work. Work was her life. She loved her job. She loved protecting people and keeping them safe and putting away dirtbags and everything else that came with her job. She wanted to get back to work, to normal life.

_Nah uh_, the voice said again. _You want to get back to him_.

She released a frustrated breath of air as she put her dress on and zipped it again. Of course she wanted to get back to Marshall. He was a part of her job, a part of her normal life.

_A major part._

She looked at herself in the mirror and sighed. She would love to pretend that Marshall wasn't what she was missing, but it was hard for her to outright lie to herself when she knew better. She did miss him.

A lot.

They would have had so much fun together on this vacation of hers. He would have been hard-pressed not to explode with all of the information he could spout off about where they were and what they were doing and traditions of the culture and anything else that he might have thought up. She would have rolled her eyes, and made some wise-crack comments, but secretly, she always found his antics amusing. And she actually did listen. He would have loved the scenery, the tranquility, and especially the history of this place. And because he was such a good friend and partner, and knew her so well, he would have made sure that no matter what, she enjoyed herself.

She'd actually thought about inviting him along, but after the speech he had given her before she'd left, she just couldn't. Not that she didn't care for and about him, but she didn't want to give him the impression that there was more than there really was.

But the more she vacationed without him, the more she doubted that was the case. She had needed space and time. He'd dropped a bomb in her lap and she was just supposed to hold it? Her first instinct was to throw it back, get rid of it, pretend it had never been there.

And then there was what shocked her the most: somewhere deep within her, a small, but steadily growing, part of her seized his words like a starving man for a ham. It was as if that part of her had been waiting for just these words from him. And that was what had held her so frozen and still as he had said those things, mesmerized as she had been by those deep blue eyes, hardly able to breathe.

She could even remember her thoughts during that conversation.

"_If you feel like you need to get something out of your system, if you need to go…do some cowboy…you've done the cowboy. And when you weren't doing the cowboy, you were the cowboy, like with Raph. You don't need to let off steam. What you need is…."_

_He's really worked up about this. What does he think I need? What, Marshall? Tell me what I need. "What?"_

"_I get that you don't like messy. But maybe messy is what you need."_

_Messy? How could I want…? Marshall…?_

"_Maybe instead of just anyone, you should be looking for someone."_

_Whoa, is he…? He is! Look at his eyes! Make him stop! No, don't…Wait…_

"_Someone who challenges you."_

_That's you…_

"_Calls you on your BS."_

_Also you…_

"_Gets in your face."_

_Umm, you…_

"_Makes you think."_

_You again, Marshall. What's the deal?_

_Holy crap, Marshall wants me to pick him! He wants to be that someone! He _is _that someone! Oh, this isn't good._

_Why? He's my best friend, an amazing partner, a more amazing man, and he actually gets me, understands me, has stayed with me…the only one who ever has…Maybe messy wouldn't be so bad? Maybe I could…_

"_What?"_

_Oh, jeez, I was staring, wasn't I? How could I help it? _

_He wants me to answer? Now? Is he nuts? I'm in the middle of an epiphany here!_

"_What? I'm thinking!" And you have no idea how hard…Ok, Mary, breathe…._

She'd been so relieved when Stan had come out, but there was no way she had missed how frustrated, even discouraged, Marshall had looked. Even now, she felt incredibly guilty about not being able to answer him at all, let alone in the way he wanted. But he was the most important man in her life, how could she honestly answer something like that, something so carefully crafted to actually avoid saying the words "choose me" but at the same time leave no doubt of the same message, without giving it careful consideration?

She reflected still as she made her way downstairs to the party, and took an intriguing-looking cocktail from a young waiter who winked at her. Marshall deserved careful thought and consideration from her, not a rushed, hasty decision like she was used to doing. That would give the impression that she only wanted a quick round of sex and nothing more. Not that she hadn't thought about it, what being with Marshall would be like, but there was too much at stake. The thought of even beginning something with Marshall was a heavy one. It could never be purely physical.

She would never want it to be.

_If Marshall were here,_ she thought as she made her way through the incredibly crowded veranda towards the balcony, _he would ask me what I want_.

_But what _do_ I want?_

She sighed, and took a drink of her cocktail, which was surprisingly tangy and not bad at all. She made a mental note to have another.

Her flight was Wednesday afternoon, and she was going back to work Thursday morning, so she only had until then to make up her mind. And she knew Marshall wouldn't pester her about it, but he would be thinking it, and she would know he was thinking about it…

Would he really want to start something with her? After everything they'd been through, let alone what she herself had put him through? He knew her, emotional crap and all. He knew what a wreck she was, what a mess it really would be. With all of that, could he really be serious about something more, something deeper than what they already had? It seemed so impossible that she couldn't even begin to hope for it.

Suddenly she was jolted roughly by a couple who had joined in the dancing, and she swore as her drink spilled onto her dress. She hastily tried to wipe it off, muttering viciously under her breath.

"Oh, I am so sorry, Miss! Please, let me help you!" came a heavily accented, all-too-familiar deep voice, and she stopped dabbing at her dress as she froze. Slowly she turned and looked at the man who had bumped her.

"Raphael?"

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**Bwah hahahahahaha...I know, I'm mean. Please review anyway, and I'll make it all better...maybe...=)**


	5. Chapter 5: Change of plans

I know I shocked you all with the last chapter, but come on, did you really think I was that mean? Here's hoping you all love this one. =)

**Disclaimer:** I won nothing. Sad day.

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"Raphael?"

"Mary." His face looked as shocked as she felt and for what seemed like a very long moment, they only stared at each other. He looked exactly as he always had, beautiful, brown, and fit. His button down Hawaiian shirt was open, the tee underneath only enhancing just how awesome his body was. Whatever she might say about their relationship and its painful end, she could never deny just how attractive he was. Then she took notice of the laughing woman he'd been dancing with. She was so beautiful it almost made Mary cringe. She was a Latino with long, dark tresses that were pinned up with an exotic flower; her body was small, but very fit, and with just the right amount of curves; her eyes were wide and, oddly enough, green. Like hers.

Mary moved her eyes back to Raph and somehow managed to smile. "Well, isn't this a surprise?" she offered, her voice shaky, her hands fidgeting with her now empty glass.

"Yes," Raph managed, pulling his beautiful partner closer to him. "What are you doing here in Hawaii?"

"Vacation," she managed, swallowing hard. "Stan made me take one. Finally." She laughed, and was appalled at how forced it sounded.

"Good for you. You always work to hard."

"Raphael," the woman next to him broke in, poking him in the side, "don't be rude, introduce us!"

A true smile broke across his handsome face. "Lo siento, querida. Teresa, this is Mary. Mary is my…" His eyes held a trace of panic in them as he looked back at Mary.

"Raphael and I are old friends from Albuquerque," Mary said, catching the relief in his eyes. She stretched out a slightly quivering hand to Teresa. "It is a pleasure to meet you."

"And you as well!" Teresa cried happily, taking Mary's hand in both of hers and Mary could feel a ring on a suspicious finger. Her heart stuttered and it took all of her willpower not to drop her hands and stare at Raph. How could he possibly be engaged again so quickly?

"So what brings the two of you to Hawaii?" she asked as Teresa finally released her hands and took Raph's, twining their fingers together, and leaning into him.

"I made Raphael bring me," Teresa said with a laugh, stroking his arm. "We never go anywhere and I said that he could take me now or after the wedding, but he had to take me sometime. And it was better for us to come here now than later, and so here we are!"

"Oh, so you're engaged?" She hoped her voice sounded calmer to them than it did to herself.

Teresa nodded happily and wiggled a finger for Mary to see the ring. "Yes, he asked me just last month. I was so surprised, but how could anyone say no to this man, am I right?" She smiled up at Raph, and he returned it, then kissed her quickly.

"Yeah," Mary said in a soft voice. "No, I get it. Raph and I dated a bit way back, and um, that's quite a catch you've got there, Teresa. Congratulations."

Teresa looked at her in surprise. "No…you're _that_ Mary?"

She froze, and saw Raph go still as well. "I guess that depends on which Mary you mean."

Teresa's grin grew and Mary was nearly blinded by perfect white teeth. "The Mary that introduced Raphael to Peter Albert! You know, the man with the car dealership who put Raphael in the commercial!"

Relief washed over Mary so strongly she had to steady herself against the edge of the balcony. "Oh, right. Yeah, then I'm that Mary."

A girlish squeal came out of Teresa as she reached for Mary's hands again. "I was one of those girls in the commercial with him! That is where we first met! I was too shy to really talk to him then, but who wouldn't be right?" She tossed a loving look back at Raph, who only smiled. "But then a few months later, I saw him again and we started talking and the rest is…" She shrugged.

"Wow," Mary said, looking at Raph, who actually looked embarrassed. "That's quite a story. So what do you do for work, then?"

"Oh, I only did that for a few extra dollars," Teresa said, waving it aside and moving back to wrap her arms around Raph's waist. "I work at a health clinic in South Valley."

"Oh, are you a nurse?"

"She is the Director of Patient Services," Raph answered proudly, rubbing his fiancée's arm lovingly.

Teresa smiled shyly. "He loves to tell people that. He thinks it makes me sound more important than I really am."

"You _are_ important, mi amor," he insisted, kissing her nose, making her giggle.

Mary watched them for a moment, a surge of what felt like a million emotions welling up in her. She needed to get out of here, needed them to leave…

"Well, it was wonderful to meet you, Mary," Teresa said with a very sincere smile. "We should meet up again when we all get back. I want to hear all about Raphael before I met him."

"No, you don't," Raphael said with a laugh. "Mary won't tell you anything."

"Oh, yes she will," Teresa replied, giving him a mock-fierce glare. "She and I are going to be great friends."

_Not a chance_, Mary thought as she smiled. Raph actually looked a little worried, but it vanished quickly. He only shrugged and turned back to Mary.

"It was good to see you, Mary," he said softly.

"Yeah, you too," she replied, meeting his eyes directly for the first time.

For a moment, she thought he was going to hug her, but he only smiled and allowed Teresa to pull him back into the dancing, and soon, both were laughing, and Mary was completely forgotten.

Thousands, millions, of thoughts and emotions swirled and churned and she thought she might be sick. She nearly ran down the stairs to the beach front, her breath coming in painful, shallow gasps. She moved as quickly as she could, unable to bear any more of this god-awful place. She ignored the cheerful cries of hotel staff and locals as she turned away from the beach and headed towards the side entrance of the hotel.

_Of all the hotel joints in all the towns in all the world…_

She swore viciously, running a hand through her hair as she neared the building. How in the hell could _he_ have been here? How could he have met someone so quickly that he wanted to marry? It wasn't realistic, not if he was the same Raph she'd known and tried to love for so long. It had taken them forever just to be able to admit they were in a real relationship.

_But was that his fault? Or was it you?_

She swore again, softly and more painfully. Almost without thinking, she grabbed her phone and dialed one of the very few numbers she had memorized then waited impatiently as she reentered the hotel at the opposite end from the party.

"Hello?" the fuzzy, thick voice answered.

"Marshall," she gasped, tears coming fast and strong. "Marshall, I've gotta get out of here now."

"Mary?" he asked, still foggy, but the worry was evident. "Mary, what's wrong?"

She frantically pressed the elevator buttons, desperate for the privacy her room. "Raph…here…fiancée…oh, God…" She sank to the floor of the elevator, and buried her face in her knees, trying not to hyperventilate.

"Mary, Mary, it's ok, slow down, I'm right here," Marshall soothed, completely alert now. "Take a deep breath."

She did so, shaky and weak though it was, then another, and slowly some sense returned to her.

"That's it, that's my girl. Ok, try again. What's wrong? What about Raph?"

"Raph's here," she managed, getting to her feet as the elevator slowed. "At this hotel."

"Of all the gin joint in all the towns…" he murmured. "So you ran into him?"

She laughed humorlessly as she exited the elevator and walked quickly towards her room. "No, technically he ran into me. Spilled my damn cocktail all over my dress. And then he introduced me to his brand new damn fiancée!" She jerked out her room key and jammed it into the lock, swearing when it didn't work. Finally it did and she shoved her way in, heading directly for the closet where her suitcase was.

There was silence from the other end of the line for a long moment, and then, "Wow."

"Yeah, no kidding," she said, yanking her suitcase out and starting to fling clothes in there. "Seemed to think that she and I were going to be best friends. And she's gorgeous, Marshall. We're talking smokin' hot, here. And he adores her. And all I could do was stand there like a freakin' idiot and…and I can't…" She stopped and sank down onto the bed, tears still welling. "I can't do this, Marshall."

"Can't do what? Can't understand? Can't face them again? Can't stay there?"

"All of the above," she whispered, her voice hitching. "I need to leave. Can you get me on a plane home?"

"Absolutely. Stay on the line with me, I'll call the airport on my home phone."

She heard him clicking away at his computer, and sighed. She really didn't deserve him. He was always there for her, even in the middle of the night when she was a wreck. Suddenly, she felt the incredible weight of guilt. Guilt for bringing him into this mess, for asking him to help because she knew he would do it, for everything she'd ever put him through, pushed on him, and everything in between. "I'm sorry," she said softly as she unzipped her dress and stepped out of it.

"For what?" he asked, sounding truly surprised, and a touch distracted.

She felt her lips twitch into a weak impersonation of a smile. Now was definitely not the time to start in on her many needed confessions. That would have to come later, when she was not in an emotional typhoon. "For getting you up in the middle of the night for all of this crap."

He snorted. "Yeah, right, Mare, you're just trying to get back at me for the other night."

Her smile broadened slightly. "Well, turn about _is_ fair play." She threw her wet dress into a plastic bag and tossed it into the suitcase, then fumbled for some sweats. "I really am sorry, though."

"Don't even worry about it. Seriously, don't. Ok, hang on, I'm calling the airport."

She absently listened to his conversation with the airlines as she changed into her comfiest sweats and shirt and finished her packing. She slipped on her sneakers and made a quick scan of the bathroom, then headed out the door.

"Ok, Mare, you still there?"

"Yeah."

"What, no quips?"

She managed a smile and stepped into the elevator, pushing the button for the main floor. "Oh, sorry, umm….yeah, peabrain, where else would I be? The moon?"

Marshall sighed. "Weak, Mare. Not at all up to your usual meanness."

"I know. I guess I'm just not in the mood." She swallowed and shook her head, willing the further tears away.

He cleared his throat. "Ok, so you're on the 11:05 flight out of Honolulu, bound for Vegas. Now, there's no direct connection from Vegas to Albuquerque, no surprise there."

"Yeah, nothing goes to Albuquerque." Mary stepped out of the elevator and flagged down an employee at the front desk, mouthing that she needed to check out. He looked confused, so she then mouthed "Emergency." He nodded and took her room key.

"So true. Anyway, I have a pilot friend in Vegas, I'm gonna call in a favor and he'll bring you the rest of the way."

"What the hell kind of favor does he owe you that would get him to fly me to Albuquerque?" she asked as she signed the room bill.

"You don't wanna know. Anyway, hang in there just a sec, and I'll be right back ok?"

"Sure."

"Ok?" he asked again, more insistent.

"Yeah, Marshall, I got it," she sighed. "I'll be here."

"Ok, don't hang up."

"I won't!" She rolled her eyes at the employee, who smiled. "Can you get me a cab to the airport please?" she asked him.

He nodded and called for one while she waited, again, listening to Marshall, this time paying attention.

"_Tony? It's Marshall… Yeah, I know it's the middle of the night, but it's an emergency. You still flying that little jumper around?...yeah, I know, can you make a trip to Albuquerque in the morning?...uh huh…oh wow, that sounds great, yeah, too bad. Well, let me just call up Derek Trellis and tell him about the time that you…oh, you can after all? That's great, Tony, you're a life saver…Yeah, a friend of mine needs a lift from Vegas to Albuquerque… Right, yeah, she gets in at 7:45. Just wait for her at baggage claim or something. Her name's Mary…yes, _that_ Mary... Oh, well, why didn't you say so?...Yeah, I got it. Thanks, Tony, it means a lot. And because you've been so obliging, I'll get you Karrie Harrison's phone number and give it to you when you get here…Right, yeah, I know. Thanks."_

"Miss? The cab is outside now."

She nodded her thanks and walked out, handing her suitcase to the cab driver, then wordlessly sat down in the back.

"Mary?"

"Yeah, I'm here. You get it?"

"Yep. Tony will get you from the airport and fly you here right after, and then I'll pick you up and take you home."

"Thank you," she sighed, leaning back against the seat and closing her eyes.

"Hey," he said softly, "what else can I do?"

"Nothing, you've done enough. More than enough, I owe you pie for a month."

"Mary." His tone told her he wasn't buying her attempt to lighten things up. "What else can I do? What do you need?"

The concern in his voice brought the tears back to the surface. "I don't know, Marshall. I just…I hurt." Her voice broke and she wiped at her eyes with her sleeve.

"What hurts more?" he asked gently. "That you saw him or that he's engaged again?"

She sniffed and stared out of the window at the darkness. "Neither. It's not as much about him as it is about me."

"So…you're not upset about him, but about how he made you feel?"

"I don't know," she murmured, rubbing her forehead. "I don't know what I'm feeling or what to think or why the hell this bothers me. I don't love him anymore, I know that. It's not that."

"Then what?"

She sighed again as they pulled up to the airport. "I gotta go, we're at the airport."

"Not so fast, Mary. Answer the question."

She pinched the bridge of her nose. "I dunno, Marshall. He looked so happy with her and I just…I just can't help wondering what's wrong with me. Why couldn't I give him that? Why couldn't I be enough?" The tears were breaking through once more and she knew she would need to hang up or Marshall would worry more than he already was.

"Mary…" His voice was infinitely gentle, concerned, and a little scolding all at once, and it tore at her heart.

"I gotta go," she whispered quickly. "I'll call you from Vegas."

She hung up before he could reply and turned off the phone completely, in case he'd try to call again. She got out of the cab, paid the driver, and hurried into the airport. She nearly flew through check-in and security, and made it to her gate a full fifteen minutes before they were scheduled to depart. She sank down into her seat, which was, thankfully, in an empty row, and stared out of the tiny window.

Only when the plane had pulled away from the gate and started on the runway did Mary let herself feel everything all over again, tears running unchecked down her cheeks, breath catching with every cry. She waved off all flight attendants, and just cried, wishing she were home already.

Wishing someone would take away all the hurt.

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**See? I TOLD you I'd make it better. Reviews make me happy! More will follow as soon as I can!**


	6. Chapter 6: Fly me away

Hiya guys! This one is longer, but I couldn't help it. I tried to keep it short, I really did, but, as you will see, this Tony character has a mind of his own. And besides, we get to hear all about Marshall, so who's gonna complain about that? Enjoy!

As always, I own nothing. Very sad.

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"Ladies and gentlemen, on behalf of Hawaiian Airlines, we would like to welcome you to Las Vegas. If this is not your final destination, we invite you to speak with the representatives outside of our gate, who will be happy to direct you to your connecting flight. For those of you for whom Las Vegas is your final destination, we thank you for flying with us and hope to see you again soon. We will be docking shortly at gate A 16. Again, on behalf of Captain Todd Brewer and your entire flight crew, we thank you for choosing Hawaiian Airlines, and hope you have a pleasant day. Aloha."

The entire cabin sleepily chorused "Aloha" in return, and soon, the clicks of seatbelts could be heard, even though the Fasten Seat Belt sign was still plainly lit.

Mary didn't say anything. She stared out of the window, as she had been doing for most of the flight, watching the workers on the tarmac and the planes coming in and going out. She hadn't slept at all. Her mind was too busy, her body was too restless. She'd tried walking up and down the aisles of the plane during the flight, but the flight attendants had asked her more than once to take her seat and remain in it. Normally, that would not have gone over well with her, but this time she didn't have the energy to fight over it.

The plane jerked to a stop and she sighed, unbuckling her seatbelt. Now it was time to go and find this Tony character, whoever he was. She wasn't exactly in the mood to be meeting new people, and prayed that he wouldn't try to carry on a conversation with her. But if he was a friend of Marshall's, there was no guarantee of anything.

She pulled out her phone and called Marshall's number, wishing she hadn't promised to call again, but knowing that if she didn't, he'd just call her anyway. He picked up after the first ring.

"Hi," he said softly.

"Hi yourself."

"You sound tired."

"Probably cuz I am."

He made a slightly frustrated noise. "Didn't you sleep?"

"Not at all."

"Mary," he scolded. "You should have tried to sleep."

"I couldn't."

Something about her tone must have warned him off of the topic, because he only said, "Hmm. Well, try to sleep on this last leg, ok? You need to rest."

"I thought that's what the vacation was for," she muttered, standing up and reaching for her satchel in the overhead compartment.

"Technically, you're still on vacation. Stan still won't let you come in until Thursday."

She swore under her breath, then sighed. "What am I supposed to do, Marshall?"

"Hey, don't think about it. We'll figure it out when you get here, ok? Right now just go get your bag and find Tony. You're almost home, Mare."

"Yeah." She waited a moment, as the aisle filled with other passengers, then started to make her way to the front. "Marshall?"

"Yeah, Mary?"

She swallowed down an unexpected lump in her throat. "Thank you."

A brief silence followed, and then, "Anytime, Mary. You know that. I'll see you in a few hours, ok?"

"Ok. Bye." She followed the line of passengers off of the plane and into the concourse, avoiding eye contact with anyone, and shouldered passed what seemed like hundreds of people. Baggage claim was a zoo, and she was forced to wait nearly twenty minutes at the carousel for her one suitcase. She would make it a point to never again travel anywhere for any length of time that would require a bag that could not be considered a carry-on.

Finally, irritated, tired, and emotionally drained, she headed for the doors, where several people stood with signs. She glanced through them all briefly, and near the end of the line, she saw one that caught her attention

_Marshall's Mary._

She stared at the sign for a moment, heart stuttering a touch, then looked up at the man holding it. He was tall, maybe 6'2, well built, and, except for the indications of lack of sleep, rather attractive. His hazel eyes twinkled as they met hers and he grinned in an almost mischievous way. "I take it you are Marshall's Mary, then?" he asked, a hint of a Southern twang coming out.

"You've gotta be kidding me," she muttered, rolling her eyes.

His grin grew, crinkling his eyes at the corners. "Yeah, I thought you'd like that." He looked her over once, and the mischievous light dimmed a little, the smile growing gentler. "You look like you've had a hell of a night."

She nodded. "You could say that. Is it too early to drink?"

He shook his head immediately and took her suitcase from her. "Nope. It's Happy Hour somewhere, and, lucky for you, I always keep a stash handy for my passengers."

"Thank God."

He chuckled softly and placed a hand on her back. "C'mon, let's get you home, Mary."

He led her out of the airport to his truck, then drove them out to one of the smaller strips behind the main terminals. He hadn't said anything else to her, and she was grateful for it. She really didn't need to be entertained at the moment, and any attempts to do so might get him shot.

Soon enough, they were both walking out to his small plane, and, after helping her up the stairs, Tony went back out, leaving her to check out her surroundings. It was small, but by no means cramped. Six passengers could sit comfortably without any of the awkwardness that accompanied major airline transportation. The seats were a bit larger than average, which she was grateful for, as she had every intention of curling up into a ball until they landed in Albuquerque.

"Ok, Mary, we're all set," Tony announced as he climbed back up, two cups of coffee in his hands. He handed one to her and she took it, looking surprised. He grinned. "Paul down there is used to me making random trips at all hours. He knows I need my coffee to be worth anything."

She took a drink gratefully as he closed the door and locked it, then moved up to the cockpit. "Nice plane you got here," she said softly.

"Thank you. It's a Cessna 525 Citation CJ1+, not that that means anything to you," he added, looking back at her with a crooked smile.

She smiled back and shrugged. "Sounds impressive."

"That's why I say it," he quipped as he sat down in his seat and began fiddling with the controls, sending the plane humming to life. "Gets me all sorts of action."

Mary snorted into her coffee.

He turned slightly and glared at her in mock severity. "Don't mock the pilot. I can drop you off anywhere and you won't be able to do anything about it."

She quirked her brows. "Oh, really? Did you forget who my partner is?"

He grinned. "Nope. Good ol' Marshall boy, and you're right, he'd kill me."

"Flay you alive."

"Grill me up and serve me to the dogs."

"Put you up on a spit and wait for the crows to descend."

He made a disgusted face and shuddered. "Yuck. Thanks, Mare."

She stilled at the nickname and hesitated, but Tony didn't seem to notice as he started communicating with the tower, so she let it go. It was only natural to shorten her name that way, it shouldn't trip her up like that just because Marshall was the only one who called her that on a regular basis.

In almost no time at all, they were taxiing out to the small runway. Tony cupped one hand over his mouth and began speaking in a nasally voice: "Ok, lady, the captain would turn on his fasten seatbelt sign if he had one at this time, but due to lack of such sign, he requests that you do so anyway. Please keep your tray tables in their upright and locked position, and all carry-on bags safely under your seat. We will be in the air shortly, at which time you may pummel the pilot with the complimentary peanuts in the back. Thank you."

Mary chuckled in spite of herself and shook her head. "You are such a dork."

He grinned. "Did you forget who my friend is?"

Her smile widened. "Nope. Good ol' Marshall." As the nose of the airplane began to rise into the air, she studied her pilot as carefully as she could without seeming creepy. He wasn't at all what she had expected. He wore khaki's and a dark green button down shirt, which didn't do anything to hide his athletic build, which she suspected was intentional. He had dark hair that was spiked up, and she could see the moisture of product from where she sat. His eyes were currently covered by an expensive looking set of Oakley's, but she remembered they were hazel, border-lining on the green aspect. He really was very attractive, but he had an air of the player about him, which made her wonder how he and Marshall had become friends.

"How do you know Marshall?" she asked when they had reached their altitude.  
Tony grinned. "I grew up next door. I'm a few years younger, so I'm better friends with his brother Alex, but I guess you could say Marshall's always been looking out for me. He was…he's like a big brother."

"He does that," she murmured fondly.

When Tony didn't elaborate, Mary knew she liked him. Basic answer to a basic question. Straightforward and clean. Wondering just how open he would be, she decided to ask a question she'd been carrying in the back of her mind.

"Who's Karrie Harrison?"

Tony looked at her sharply, then burst out laughing. "You heard Marshall on the phone, didn't you?"

She shrugged. "Guilty. And curious." She unbuckled her seatbelt and pulled her feet up under her, and waited.

He sighed, smiling. "Karrie Harrison was the most gorgeous girl in the entire school. She was a grade above me, just below Marshall. She was way smart, athletic, student body president, and smokin' hot."

"Hate her already," Mary muttered.

His grin widened. "I was obsessed with her, and I'm pretty sure everybody knew it. She and Marshall were in the little brain squad whatchamacallit together, and I was always begging him to hook me up."

"But he never did?"

"Nope. Not that I blame him. I was a total loser. She would have shot me down in a heartbeat and I would never have recovered. But now, thanks to you and your emergency, assuming I play my cards right, I may actually have a shot!" He grinned at her with pride and raised his eyebrows suggestively.

She chuckled and shook her head. "If only you weren't a loser now, I might actually believe that."

"Ouch! Hey!" he howled in protest. "I'll have you know I have worked very hard to get out of that. Boy, Marshall was right about you!"

That shut her up, and she looked at him, wondering if she should be worried or offended. "Right about me?" she repeated carefully.

Tony nodded. "He said you were tough as nails, brutally honest, and didn't take crap from anybody. He also said you could dish it, but taking it was a bit harder for you."

She squirmed in her seat, but said nothing.

He turned his head and stared at her, though she couldn't see his eyes through his shades. "Don't get excited, Mary. That man practically worships you."

She swallowed hard, feeling an odd choking sensation start. "Does he?"

"You doubt it?"

She thought about it, thought about everything that she and Marshall had been through together, everything he had ever done for her, every comforting thing he had ever said to her. She remembered his sixth sense that seemed to revolve around her and her needs, his uncanny ability to see past all her defenses, his desire to protect her no matter what…

_I hope you know that…I love you._ His voice echoed in her mind, and her breath caught in her chest. "No," she managed to get out. "No, I don't doubt it."

Tony nodded in satisfaction and turned to face the front of the plane again. "Good."

For a few minutes, they just sat there, letting the silence speak for itself. Hundreds of thoughts swirled in her mind, thoughts about Marshall, about her, about Raph… She shook her head, trying to get rid of those depressing thoughts. She'd have to deal with them eventually, but right now, she wanted to be distracted.

"Tony?" she began slowly, trying to sound sweet.

He turned his head only a fraction to look at her out of the corner of his eye. "Mary?"

She decided then and there that he would absolutely tell her. "What in the hell did you do that made you owe Marshall enough to fly me to Albuquerque?"

Again, Tony laughed loudly. "Well, first of all, if the twad had told me it was you he wanted me to fly, I'd have done it for nothing."

"Seriously?" That surprised her.

"Uh-huh."

"Why?"

He snorted. "After hearing all about you for years, you think I was gonna miss an opportunity to meet you? Seriously, every story Marshall tells is "Mary this" or "Mary that" or "when Mary and I"." He laughed again, and shook his head. "You were always my favorite part of the story, Mary."

"Wow." That was all she could say, really. So Marshall talked about her a lot. That was slightly uncomfortable, but there was nothing she could do about it. Besides, if he felt about her the way Tony thought, and the way she was starting to suspect, it's not like he would have said anything embarrassing. Maybe he was even proud.

Feeling slightly better, she tossed her hair over one shoulder and eyed her pilot again. "Ok, what's second of all?"

"Huh?"

"You said first of all. What's next? Why do you owe Marshall?"

He looked at her, his mouth twitching. "What did he tell you?"

She shrugged. "He said I didn't want to know."

Tony's smile grew amused. "He did, huh? What a pal. That's because it is highly embarrassing and if it weren't for Marshall, I'd be totally and royally screwed."

"Sounds like a good story."

"Oh, it is," he assured her. "Sit back and listen, Miss Mary. And just pretend you have some popcorn. So about ten years ago, Marshall, Alex, and I were all in Vegas for Derek Trellis' wedding. Derek was one of the guys in the neighborhood where we all grew up, and his dad worked with Marshall and Alex's dad sometimes. Anyway, it was the evening of the wedding, a few hours before, cuz they decided to get married at midnight, for some twisted reason. We were here all goofing off, well, as much as Marshall ever goofs off," he broke off here for a snort, which Mary echoed, "and I saw this completely gorgeous girl. I mean, wowzers. Total babe. 15 on the 10 point scale, right? And I was ever so slightly an idiot in those days, so I went right over and chatted her up, even though we were both drunk out of our minds. And I can see Marshall watching us, just giving me that look of his…you know the one I'm talking about."

She laughed softly. "Yeah, I do. I know it well."

"I bet you do. Anyway, he gets distracted by something or other, so this chick and I slip out, cuz who wants big brother watching you get a score, right?"

"Sure," Mary said, starting to think she knew where it was going, and a smile was beginning to form.

"So she takes me up to her hotel room, and we're going at it, I mean seriously, and it's getting down to the wire, and all of a sudden the door opens and there's Marshall. The girl starts laughing like crazy and doesn't even cover up, just flat out falls off of the bed. Marshall throws me my clothes and gets a robe for her, and I feel like I'm about 5 years old, right? Big bad daddy come to get the naughty son. But all he says is, "I knocked, but obviously you were otherwise…occupied.""

Mary shook her head, still smiling. "That is so Marshall."

Tony chortled, and rubbed the back of his neck. "Oh, you don't even know the half of it. As soon as I had my pants on, Marshall grabs my arm and hauls me off to my room. There he shoves my head under the faucet of really frickin' cold water, and keeps pulling me in and out until I'm slightly coherent. And by the way, that man is a lot stronger than he looks."

Mary smiled softly. Yeah, she knew that. "So who was she?"

"Oh, just the cousin of Derek's fiancée. And the maid of honor."

She clapped a hand over her mouth, unable to resist laughing a little. "So if you had gone ahead…"

"She probably would have missed the wedding. And everybody would have known that she had slept with me and we were playing around in Vegas somewhere. And then her own very large body-builder fiancé would have killed me."

Mary swore softly, still trying not to laugh. "So Marshall pretty much saved your hide."

"Oh, yeah. He knew who the girl was before I ever left the bar. When we were gone, he made up some story for the clerk or something, got her room number, a copy of the key, and hightailed it up to us. Good timing, too, cuz I saw the rhino she was engaged to coming up one of the elevators when we were going down. And the chick didn't remember a thing." He grinned and looked over at Mary. "But she looked like crap at the wedding, though."

She returned his smile. "And Derek?"

"Never found out how close I came to ruining his wedding." His grin faded a little and he sighed. "Or how close I came to blowing my whole life away. I owe Marshall big time. Still do. You know, he has never brought this up ever? He's never once made me feel like I owe him, never held it over my head for any reason, until now. I always expected him to way before this." He looked over at her and smiled gently. "You must mean a hell of a lot to him, Marshall's Mary."

She couldn't answer, couldn't even formulate a reply in her mind. She brought her knees up to her chin and rested her head there. She knew she had meant a lot to Marshall, but had she ever really guessed how much? And did he have any idea what he meant to her? There was so much to think about, so much she didn't know, so many questions she didn't have answers for yet. She was such a mess inside, and she didn't think that's what Marshall meant by 'messy'. Tears started to fall softly again, as the confusion within her swirled.

"Mary?"

She turned her head and looked at Tony, who had taken off his shades and was peering at her intently.

"I'm not sure what happened to you down in Hawaii, I'm not sure what's been going on in your life, and frankly, it's none of my damn business. But I want you to know this: I know Marshall Mann, and there isn't a finer human being on this earth. He is an intelligent, generous, caring man and he never does anything without reason. He is someone you can trust in and believe in without question. He is the safest bet on the planet, and if I were a woman, I'd snatch that up in a heartbeat." His eyes turned mischievous, which seemed to be their natural look. "As it is, I'm not afraid to admit that I'm a little in love with the guy myself, and I'm as straight as they come."

She burst out laughing and wiped at her eyes. "Now that's what I call honesty."

"If you ever tell him that, I'll kill you."

"Fair enough. It will be our secret."

He nodded, then looked at her in an apprising manner. "How good are you at keeping secrets?"

She returned his look with one of her own. "Depends on what the secret is."

"Want me to tell you some Marshall stories? Or do you want to sleep?"

She grinned deviously in response.

Tony laughed, and immediately started in on a story about twelve-year old Marshall and an old tree in a neighbor's yard that ended with a trip to the ER for two and four months of doing the same neighbor's yard work.

Mary listened to story after story as Tony flew, laughing most of the time, and smiling the rest. Her pain, her emotional cesspool, was still in there, but Tony and his Marshall stories provided a happy distraction, and eased the burdens, and it wasn't long before Mary found herself lulled to sleep, as the stories of her partner filled her mind and her dreams, soothing her as home grew ever closer.

* * *

**Sigh...I wish I had the time and space to make up all sorts of Marshall stories, but alas... Anyway, review please! And I PROMISE that we're getting to some good stuff. I mean REALLY good. *wink***


	7. Chapter 7: Home at last

Wow! "You like me, you really like me!" Sorry, couldn't resist. Anywho, here's some happiness for you all, but I warn you, it's not over yet. I know, I know, you all want resolution. But seriously, it's coming! Give it time! It will be good, I promise!

Disclaimer: I wish I owned IPS...but alas, I do not.

* * *

Marshall was alternating between pacing around and leaning on his SUV as he waited by the small landing strip behind the airport, which was used for private flights only. He checked his watch again. 10:02. According to his calculations, they should be arriving at any time, assuming things had run smoothly in getting out of Las Vegas and that they'd had no trouble on the flight.

He was nervous. A myriad of questions bombarded him at rapid intervals. What state of mind would Mary be in? How upset was she about Raph? Was she really over him? What was she thinking and feeling?

How was he going to help?

He had been hoping that when she returned from her vacation, they could discuss the issues about their relationship that he had started to touch on before she left. But now, with this setback, he knew that would have to wait until Mary was ready for it. He was ready now, had been ready for a long time. But if there was one thing he knew about Mary, it was that timing was everything. He needed to get her over this hurtle—well, first he needed to find out what exactly the hurtle _was_, and _then_ get her over it—before he could even think about how their relationship could progress in the direction he wanted it to.

She'd said she was thinking about it, but how much had she been able to analyze and consider all aspects of it before all hell had broken loose with Raph? Where was her head at now?

He ran a hand through his hair and sighed, leaning back against the car door again. It would be impossible to even begin to strategize before he had seen her and had a chance to talk with her. But he couldn't wait much longer. If it was going to be yes, a thing he barely dared to hope for, then it would open up a whole new chapter between them, one that was difficult and messy as hell, but it would be good. It would be really good. If it was going to be no, then so be it. He wouldn't leave, couldn't leave. He was helpless, addicted, if you will, to her, to everything that was her. Unless something changed, either in her life or his, he would continue to go on as he had done for years, suffering silently, unwilling to alter anything.

To the outside observer, he was the very epitome of a fool.

The outside observer did not know Mary.

Just then, he saw a small plane land, and he straightened, exhaled slowly, then started for the tarmac. Airport security came towards him, but one flash of his badge, and they nodded, backing off. It didn't take long for Tony to taxi the plane over to the hanger, and almost immediately thereafter, the plane door opened and Mary came down the steps. He waited about a hundred yards from the plane, shuffling his feet a little, unsure of how to proceed. His instinct was to sweep her up and hold her close, but he knew better than to act on his own instincts without considering hers. She might be more likely to shoot him for doing that. No, she would be the driving force here.

She saw him, but did not wave. He could see, even from where he was, that she was exhausted, both emotionally and physically. Her walk, her stance, her expression; everything radiated the need for rest and comfort. He swallowed down a lump that had formed, and began walking towards her slowly, watching her.

She came right at him, her satchel over one shoulder, her eyes fixed on his. He stopped about three feet from her, but she didn't stop. She walked right into his chest, wrapping her arms around him and burying her face in his shoulder. His arms were around her instantly, holding her tightly against him. He was surprised and worried, but not at all unhappy, about this reaction of hers. He wanted to comfort her, and she wanted comfort from him. He forced himself not to smile, and started stroking her hair with one hand. She breathed slowly and deeply, as if she were trying to maintain control. He wanted to tell her that it was all right, that she didn't need control, not with him, but that would come later, once she had rested.

"Hi," he said softly after a long moment.

"Hi," she responded, her voice muffled against him.

"Did you sleep?"

He felt her nod. "About an hour." Then she chuckled. "Tony's very entertaining."

"That he is," he sighed, looking up at the plane to see the man himself grinning at him from the stairs. "I bet he told you all sorts of stories."

She pulled back slightly and smiled cunningly. "Oh, he did."

"God save me," he muttered. Then he looked Mary carefully in the eyes, searching there. "Are you ok?" he asked quietly, not wanting Tony, who was headed for them with Mary's bag, to overhear.

She started to nod, then just shrugged. "I just need to get home."

He nodded, and rubbed her arms softly. "I'll take you, just a second." He put an arm around her and turned them both to face Tony. "Thanks for doing this, Tony. I really appreciate it."

Tony shrugged, still grinning. "Hey, like I said, if you'd told me it was Mary here who I'd be carting, I'd have said yes immediately, no sweat. We had a great time, didn't we?"

She smiled up at him, her eyes squinting in the bright sunlight. "Hell yes, we did."

"I'm very afraid right now," Marshall said, reaching into his pocket. "But even so, I am grateful. And now…" He pulled out a piece of paper, and Tony's eyes darted to it instantly. "…I do believe I owe you this."

Tony snatched it from his fingers and held it tightly, then he looked up at him. "I swear to God, Marshall, if you're screwing with me…"

"I'm not," he assured him, trying not to laugh. "That's her number. I even called it to check."

"Did you tell her I was gonna call her?"

He nodded, a grin trying to break through. "Yep. She said she would be looking forward to it."

Tony's eyes lit up like a little kid on Christmas morning. "She did?"

Marshall nodded again.

Tony whooped and punched a fist in the air, bringing laughs from the other two. "Oh, man, Marshall, I owe you big!"

He shook his head. "No, we are even now."

Tony looked at him and smiled. "Huh-uh. I told you, I'd have brought Mary for nothing at all. I still owe you, brother." He shook hands with him, then grabbed Mary in a big bear hug, which startled both Mary and Marshall, but Mary just laughed and hugged him back. "Next time, lemme fly you somewhere cool, ok, Mare? And not this early in the morning, I'm much more entertaining later in the day."

"I'll try to keep that in mind," she quipped as she stepped back to Marshall's side. "Thanks, Tony. Really."

He saluted them both. "Don't mention it. See you around, kids. Be good." He looked meaningfully at Mary and winked, then put his Oakley's back on and headed over to his plane and the landing crew.

"Funny guy," Mary murmured fondly. Then she looked up at Marshall. "He really likes you, you know."

"He said that?" he asked watching his friend leave. "I always thought I was just an annoying big brother."

"Well, annoying, sure, but still."

He made a face at her. "Thanks. Appreciate it." He sighed and picked up her bag. "Ok, off we go. Have you eaten anything?"

She shook her head as they started for his car. "Not since last night."

"Ok, then, first stop is breakfast."

She scowled and looked over at him. "Can't I just go home?"

He shook his head and took her arm. "Nope. You are going to get some decent food in you before we do anything else. You need nourishment and comfort food, which would probably be best served by pancakes."

Her stomach growled in response as he opened the car door for her and she slid in. "Ok, fine, pancakes and _then_ home," she gave in. "But only because I'm starving."

He rolled his eyes and closed her door, put her suitcase in the back, then got in his own seat and started the car.

Thirty minutes later, Mary was half-way through her pile of pancakes, and starting to slow down, when she noticed Marshall watching her.

"What?" she asked as she sipped some of her coffee.

"What?" he replied, jerking as if he'd been shocked.

"You're staring, doofus."

"Maybe I'm impressed by your ability to consume pancakes at such an alarming rate," he offered, sitting back slightly and reaching for his own coffee.

She gave him a look that left no doubt she didn't buy that answer, and he sighed. "I'm just concerned about you, Mary. Can't I do that?"

"I'll be fine, Marshall," she murmured, cutting another section of her breakfast and forking it in moodily.

"I know that," he said softly, reaching over and taking her hand. "I know. But right now, in this moment, you are _not_ fine. You are emotionally and physically drained, and who wouldn't be after what you've been through in the last eight hours? You said that all of this wasn't because of Raph, but it was because of you, and that is what concerns me. I want to know what it is about you that has caused all of this."

She sighed, pushing away her breakfast and looking down at her hands. "Do I have to do this now?"

He hesitated, not wanting to push her, but needing to know himself. He couldn't begin to help her if she didn't open up.

"I'm not saying I won't tell you, Marshall, cuz you know I will," she said softly. "I'll tell you everything. But I just don't know if I can right now." She looked up at him, her eyes pleading.

He watched her steadily for a moment, then nodded. "Ok, as long as you promise you'll talk to me about this, we can put it off."

"I promise. Thanks." She reached into her pocket to pull out money for the bill, but he shook his head.

"I've got this, Mare."

"No! You've done so much already, I can at least pay for my breakfast."

He shook his head and paid the waitress. "Normally, I would let you pay for anything that you asked to pay for, considering what a cheapskate you tend to be, but just this once, I'm going to override your protests."

She smirked at him, and got up, stretching the kinks that had started to form in her back. "I need a bed," she moaned.

"I would suggest holding off on actually sleeping until later," Marshall said as they walked back to his car. "It will allow your body to reestablish a regular sleeping pattern without having to adjust to additional stresses. You will get a more fulfilling sleep if you do so at a more natural time."

"Your mind is not natural," she muttered as they started to drive.

"There she is," Marshall said with a fond smile.

"Shut up." She fell silent as they drove, and then, as she noticed their surroundings, turned to look at her partner. "Where are we going?"

For the first time since they'd been together again, he looked uneasy.

"Marshall…"

He winced, then plowed ahead, speaking rapidly. "I may have dropped by your house this morning on my way to pick you up and discovered that your mom and Brandi decided to have a little girl time at your house while you were away and I deduced that you would not want to be involved in any way, shape, or form, so I'm taking you to my place so you can enjoy your remaining days of vacation in uninterrupted peace and quiet, free from irritation or stress."

He held his breath, waiting for the inevitable explosion. When none came, he chanced a glance over at her and saw that she was staring at him in shock. His mind raced. What part was she having trouble with? The fact that her family had decided to intrude again or the fact that he was taking her to his house without asking? He decided to defend the latter first.

"I would have done a hotel, but I didn't think you would want to go to another hotel so soon, and I'm not even going to be home until the evenings, and I have a spare bedroom, so you would have all the privacy you'd want, which is what I know you need, and I—"

"Sounds great, Marshall, but back up," she interrupted, brushing aside his defense with an impatient flick of her hand. "Mom and Brandi are having a party at my house? While I'm on vacation?"

If he'd had more time, Marshall would have reveled in the relief that cascaded over him, but as it was…

"Yeah. Peter's been gone for about as long as you have, and Brandi didn't want to be alone, apparently, so they've been staying at your house. They're planning to leave Wednesday morning, and swear you'll never know they were there, which is a moot point now, considering I've told you." He'd been upset with them when he'd discovered what they were up to, but opted not to tell them that Mary was coming home early. It would be better if they didn't know anything at all.

"And you didn't tell them I was coming?"

"What, and have them anticipate the fury you'll unleash upon them? No, thank you."

She sat back and closed her eyes. "Well, there's that at least. I can just finish my vacation at your house, I've got no problem with that. It's a much better idea than just going to my house and having to fend for myself. You have food?"

He chuckled. "Yes, I have food. I'll even be your chef, if you want."

She smiled and sighed, letting some of the tension leave her. "That would be nice. Do you have a hat?"

"Sadly, I do not, but there is a pie waiting for you."

"I love vacation."

Soon enough, they were pulling into his driveway. Mary hadn't said anything else, and he sensed that her exhausted state was driving that more than anything that might have been on her mind. She got out of the car without a word, and headed into the house like a zombie. He steered her to the couch and sat her down, which she did without complaint.

"Ok, Mare, your room is just down this hall and to the left, all right? There's a bathroom in there, fresh towels, clean sheets…" He trailed off as she looked up at him, her eyes slightly out of focus. He sighed and sat down on the couch next to her. "Hey, you gonna be ok? I can stay here if you want. I don't want you to be alone."

She shook her head and patted his arm. "No, you go ahead. I'm not gonna be good for much of anything until I sleep. But thank you."

He smiled and touched her cheek. "Ok, if you're sure?"

She nodded.

He got up and took her bag into the room he'd hastily readied this morning, doing a brief scan of it as he did so. It seemed to be ready enough, and he went back out to his living room. Mary still sat on the couch, hands in her lap, staring at nothing.

"All right, then," he said, squatting down in front of her and taking her hands. Her tired eyes met his worried ones, and he sighed. "If there's anything you need, call me, ok? I can bring you anything you need, I can come back and sit here with you, I make a pretty decent pillow if that's all you need."

That brought a smile to her face and his heart soared a little at its appearance.

"I mean it, Mare. Anything at all. Call me, ok?"

"Ok," she said softly, squeezing his hands. "I will."

He held her hands tightly, searching her eyes. "Let's talk when I get back, ok? Can we do that?"

She nodded, her eyes tearing up a little. "Yeah, I think we need to."

"I agree." He squeezed her hands once more, and smiled, standing up. "Don't forget about your pie."

She eyed the refrigerator suspiciously. "I won't."

"It doesn't stand a chance, does it?"

"Not a bit."

"I don't suppose asking you to save me a piece would do any good?"

She shrugged. "You never know. I might be feeling generous later."

He chuckled and left, waving to her as he did so, wondering just how much work he was going to get done knowing that Mary was waiting for him at his home. It was going to be a long afternoon.

Marshall came back a little after eight o'clock, feeling himself like he could sleep for three days. He couldn't imagine how exhausted Mary must have been feeling. There were few lights on in the house, and he didn't hear any noise as he entered.

"Mary?" he called quietly, not knowing whether she would even be awake.

There was no response. He put his keys, gun, and badge on the counter as he always did, and checked the living room. The couch was rumpled and there was a blanket piled up on it. He smiled, and picked up the glass that was sitting coaster-less on his coffee table. Normally, that was a big pet peeve of his, but considering it was Mary and considering the situation, he'd let it slide. He took the glass back into the kitchen, and saw the remains of her dinner on a plate in the sink. He frowned. It was a lot of food left on the plate. He wrapped it all up and put it back in the fridge, noting that the pie had indeed been partially consumed, which made him feel a little better about the lack of dinner.

He headed down the hallway to his guest bedroom, wondering if she'd already gone to bed. The door was open, and he peered inside.

There she was, curled up on her side facing away from him, still in her clothes from the day, on top of the covers. He could hear her slow, steady breathing, and wondered how long she had been asleep.

Her bag was sitting on the floor, opened, but most everything still inside of it, all bunched up and disorganized. He saw a plastic bag that seemed not to belong, and took that out, dislodging some clothes from the bag. Inside was the dress that Raph had apparently made her spill a cocktail on. It was still damp. Carefully, he piled everything else back in. She would take care of it later, if she wanted to. He doubted she'd appreciate him folding and organizing her laundry.

He looked up at Mary's sleeping form on the bed and sighed. She had been so fatigued she hadn't cared enough to unpack even a little. He went over to the bed, wincing as a floorboard creaked beneath his boots. Her mouth was slightly open, and a few strands of hair had fallen over her forehead and now danced in the air as she breathed. He smiled softly, and touched her shoulder.

"Mary," he said quietly, pulling at the covers under her. "Mary, c'mon, let's get you into bed."

"I am in bed," she murmured sleepily, stirring slightly.

"I know you are, sweetie, but let's get you under the covers, ok?"

"Mkay," she replied, shifting so he could pull them from beneath her. He helped her get between them, then tucked the blankets in around her.

"That's it," he soothed as she snuggled back in. "Feel better?"

"Yeah," she whispered, burrowing her face into the pillow, "'s better. Smells like…Marshall…"

"Sorry about that," he breathed, adjusting the covers and resting his hand on her hair.

"It's ok," she said, and he could tell he was losing her to sleep again. "It's nice…"

He was startled to feel his cheeks heat slightly at her sleepy words. He swallowed hastily and scooted closer. "Good night, Mary," he murmured, leaning over to kiss her brow.

" 'night, Marshall."

Her breathing deepened again, and she began making sounds that were somewhere between breathing and snoring, which he found utterly charming. He sat down beside her and continued to stroke her hair, brushing those few strands away from her face. She looked so peaceful and at rest, so beautiful just like this, that breathing was suddenly a touch more difficult than normal. He was oh-so tempted to curl up beside her and hold her while she slept, to protect her from dreams, to make sure she was all right.

But he couldn't do that. It was too soon, there was too much that needed to be said, too much that was unknown.

Still, he wondered if he would ever be able to do this again. To just sit here and watch her sleep, to stroke her hair, to hold her the way she'd let him today. He would love nothing more than days and years of moments just like this.

He closed his eyes, wishing he knew what Mary was feeling. _I hope you know that…I love you_. His own words echoed in his mind. Had she known that meaning behind them? That he was not speaking of the platonic love of partners, or even the deeper love of friends, but of real, true, honest, romantic love. A love that went beyond reason, made him forget himself, made his entire world about her.

Exhaling sharply, he forced himself off of her bed and, picking up the bag with her wet dress in it, he walked out of the room. He could not dwell on his own feelings, not yet. There would be time enough for that when all of this was over.

If he could wait that long.

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**Okay, I'll apologize to those of you who actually thought they'd talk this chapter. My bad. But review anyway, and have a little faith in me, ok? Ok. =)**


	8. Chapter 8: Dinner is served

Hi guys! Sorry it's been so long, but I had a LOT to iron out here. We are getting down to the wire, and I PROMISE the next few bits will come fast, since they're mostly done already. Thanks for sticking with me!

I own nothing. Not a thing. Except hope...

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"Marshall?" Mary called as she stumbled out of her bedroom the next morning, blinking against the harsh sunlight coming through the windows.

She didn't hear a response. Frowning, she wandered into the kitchen, only to find it empty.

"Marshall?"

Again, there was no answer. Where was he? She looked around the kitchen blearily, and blinked hard when she saw the clock on the stove. 11:21. No, that couldn't be right… She rubbed her eyes and looked again. Still 11:21.

She groaned and sank into a chair at Marshall's kitchen table. No wonder he wasn't around, it was the middle of the day! He was at the office! For almost twenty seconds, she seriously considered going into work herself. But there were two major hang-ups with that idea: 1. Stan would shoot her, and 2. Marshall would shoot her. And since she'd been shot and had no desire to repeat the experience, she opted to do as Marshall suggested and spend a few hours enjoying the privacy, uninterrupted peace and quiet, and no irritation or stress.

For the first time, she noticed a small brown paper bag on the table with a piece of paper underneath it. She pulled both towards her and saw Marshall's neat, tidy scrawl on the paper.

_Good morning, Mary!_

_In light of the fact that you will most certainly not be awake when I have the time to create a breakfast masterpiece for you, I took the liberty of procuring you a Danish that is actually worth eating, as you seemed keen enough to do so with one of a far inferior quality. This particular delight comes from the bakery just down the street, and hopefully will enlighten you on why I choose to consume something so available at any hotel continental spread of my own volition._

_I've taken the liberty of having your dress dry-cleaned, I hope you don't mind. Even if you do, it's too late. You're welcome._

_Enjoy your time of peace and quiet, and call me if you need anything._

_Marshall_

_Oh, and don't touch the crock-pot on the counter. Tonight's culinary tour de force must remain a surprise. I mean it!_

She smiled in spite of herself and shook her head. "Doofus," she murmured fondly, setting aside the note and pulling her pastry out of the bag. Well, it certainly _looked_ better than the Danish she had at the hotel. Shrugging, she took a big bite, and almost groaned. Good Lord, what had they put in this thing? It was one of the most amazing things she had ever eaten! Now if she only had some…

Her eyes caught sight of the coffee machine in the corner, a small post-it note attached to it with only two words written on it: Help yourself.

She grinned. Vacations at Marshall's might become a regular occurrence, if it weren't for the fact that she was feeling very guilty about all of the schlepping around he was doing for her. Getting her flights home in the middle of the night, putting her up while her family used her house, getting her a real Danish, preparing some master meal, taking her dress to the dry-cleaners, for God's sake! She snorted as she fixed herself some coffee. What man does all of that for any woman, let alone one that was just his partner, all because she had a bad experience on a vacation? Even if he was her best friend, it was not a natural thing for a man to do.

Not that she wasn't grateful, because she was; she honestly did not know what she would have done without Marshall. He was her rock in the stormy seas of her life, the one constant, the one she could depend on and turn to. And no matter how messy or messed up her situation might have been, he was always there to help her find a way out of it, or bring a smile out in her, or, if nothing else, give her something else to think about. Marshall always knew what she needed.

Her curiosity was piqued by the crock-pot on the counter. What sort of culinary tour de force did her crazy partner have in mind? She lifted the lid and peeked inside to find a marinara sauce simmering. It smelled amazing.

"Holy crap," she groaned, inhaling deeply. "Whatever you've got up your sleeve, Marshall, I am so game."

She covered the sauce again and went back to the table, picked up her coffee and Danish, and headed for the living room. Maybe there'd be something good on TV. She needed something to distract her from not being at work, from all the crap in her head, and especially from that damned marinara sauce.

**Later that night...**

"Mary, for the last time, get out of the kitchen."

She scowled at her partner as he blocked her from viewing whatever it was he was creating that smelled so intoxicating. "Come on, Marshall, just let me see what it is!"

"No." He put down the spoon he was using, turned to face her, and then forcibly shooed her out, his blue eyes practically dancing with amusement. "I told you it was going to be a surprise. Now you sit here and patiently anticipate the culinary delights the chef has prepared."

"In a real restaurant, they have wine and appetizers for their starving customers so we don't attack the chef before the meal is done," she grumbled as she took the seat set for her at the table. "And that apron is ridiculous."

He quirked a brow and brushed imaginary wrinkles out of his green apron that had the words "Kiss me, I'm Italian" on it _in Italian_, and a proud Italian flag emblazoned on the front. "I'll have you know, this is a very festive article of clothing specifically designed to create the proper mood for the art of mastering Italian cuisine. The man who gave it to me is also the one who was the means of providing tonight's feast by crafting the piece de resistance by hand using a recipe handed down to him from generations of Italian chefs. You may want to respect the wearer of said apron."

She pretended to consider it, then shook her head. "I can't respect a man who claims to be Italian only to get some action. Sorry."

He frowned at her, then brought over a basket of hot Italian bread and a plate with some oil and unidentified bits of something or other. "Fine. Appetizers for the ravenous female."

She looked at the plate with a touch of apprehension. "What is it and why is it floating in oil?"

"Oh ye of little faith," Marshall scolded in exasperation. He picked up a slice of the bread and tore off a small piece, dipping into the oil mixture. "Open up."

She reared back. "Huh uh, no way, not until I know what you're shoving into my mouth."

"Trust me."

She met his eyes warily and saw laughter in their blue depths, but sensed some underlying tension in his words, so she obediently opened her mouth and let him pop the bread in. She almost gasped at the delicious flavors she tasted, and Marshall laughed out loud at her expression.

"I'd say I told you so, but this is so much sweeter," he sighed, heading back to the stove.

"Good God," she cried, reaching for another, much larger piece of bread to dip in, "what the hell is this?"

"Your basic Italian bread, dipped in virgin olive oil that is sprinkled with Italian herbs and roasted garlic bits." He looked over his shoulder and gave a half smile. "Are you going to respect the apron now?"

"I bow to the apron. Hell, I'll sleep with the apron if it can do things like this," she managed around a mouthful of bread, tearing off another piece and drenching it in the oil and herbs mixture.

Marshall's smile froze and he stared at her strangely, but she was too occupied with consuming the appetizer to notice. He cleared his throat hastily and brought over their salads, then took his own seat. "Caesar salad, _signorina_. And don't squander your appetite on the first dish!"

"Whatever, Marshall, I'm making a meal out of this bread."

He sighed and took away the plate of oil and basket of bread, and set them on the counter behind his seat.

"Hey!" she protested, reaching for it.

He batted her hands away. "No. I have worked too hard on this meal for you to ignore the rest of it. Eat your salad or you won't get any more bread later."

"Yes, Mother," she grumbled, moodily shoving her fork into the salad and spearing a crouton. After a few bites of her salad, she looked over at Marshall, who had been watching her. "Ok, so that salad is really good, too. Happy now?"

He shrugged as he chewed his own salad, trying to remain nonchalant, but the small smile on his face gave him away.

"Can I get some wine over here, Chuckles?" she asked, wanting to wipe the smug smile off of his face if for no other reason than because she could.

He nodded and reached for the bottle he'd set out specifically for this occasion, then poured her a glass. "You can attempt to bait me all you want, you know. I refuse to retaliate because I am confident that before the night is over, you will have fallen at the feet of a culinary master, humble, penitent, and begging for my secret."

She let out a bark of laughter and took her wine in hand. "In your dreams, Italian boy. The bread is divine, the salad fresh, and this wine," she paused to take a sip, then smacked her lips thoughtfully, "yeah, the wine is perfect, but we still have the main course to go. Hand crafted or not, you had to prepare it. My doubts may be confirmed yet."

He shook his head, that irritating smile still on his lips. "I was going to let us finish our salads before bringing out the main dish, but you have persuaded me, by your lack of confidence, that the time is now upon us." He rose from his seat with a sardonic lifting of his brow and moved to the stove.

"Victory is mine," she murmured proudly, sitting back and sipping her wine.

"Not so hasty, my dear," Marshall said from behind her, the smile evident in his voice.

In true dramatic fashion, a plate was suddenly placed before her, covered by a pot lid. Mary looked up at him incredulously. "Seriously, Marshall?"

"Prepare to be amazed," he warned, the light in his eyes dancing mischievously. With far too much flourish, he removed the lid and cried "_Voila_!"

Mary looked down at her plate, her jaw dropping immediately as a multitude of sensations attacked her. The fragrance was beyond intoxicating, the appearance as if it came straight from an Italian café. Her stomach roared its approval as she stared at her meal, dumbfounded.

"The chef's special this evening. Tortellini filled with cheese, covered in a tangy meat and tomato marinara, with a hint of garlic, compliments of Giuseppe, the charming Italian from the market a few blocks away. Oh, I almost forgot!" He vanished from her side, then reappeared with a block of parmesan cheese and a grater. Soon, a few strips of cheese fell onto her plate, looking as if they had been placed by hand for a photo.

She couldn't say anything. Whatever she had thought Marshall would make for them, she never expected this.

"Aren't you going to say anything?" he teased as he took his seat with his own, less artistic plate.

She met his eyes, her mouth still hanging open. She shook her head in awe.

"What?" he laughed.

"I have nothing to say," she breathed, looking at him in almost-confusion.

His grin threatened to split his face. "Well, why don't you try some? I know it's pretty, but it is edible."

Obediently, Mary picked up her fork and took a bite, moaning in delight, and turning back to Marshall. "Holy crap, Marshall!"

He inclined his head. "I shall take that as a compliment."

"Yeah," she said, taking another bite quickly. She closed her eyes as she chewed. "This is the most incredible thing I have ever eaten. Forget going home tomorrow, I'm never leaving this kitchen."

He chuckled as he ate his own. "Well, you are always welcome, but I warn you, I will not cook for you all the time."

"Who cares? I am a firm believer in leftovers." She smiled at him and shook her head. "Why didn't you tell me you could cook?"

He shrugged, looking embarrassed for the first time. "You never really asked, and it wasn't something that ever came up. I don't do it often, obviously, but every once in a while, I enjoy dabbling in the culinary arts."

"Feel free to dabble anytime with me," she offered as she took yet another bite. She froze mid-chew as she replayed those words back to herself, then looked over at him. He had an arrested look on her face and she tried to smile. "That didn't come out right, did it?"

"I don't think so…" he said, trailing off carefully. "Between that and sleeping with my apron, you seem to be on quite a roll this evening."

She replayed that particular phrase back and swore softly. "Let's see how many awkward things Mary can say in one night," she muttered as she snatched up her wine glass and drank deeply.

A genuine smile reappeared on Marshall's face. "Never awkward with you, Mary. Merely ironic. And it makes life a little more interesting, if not entertaining."

She smiled fondly and toasted him, which he returned.

The rest of the meal passed uneventfully, and the conversation was full of laughter and smiles. It was the most relaxed Mary had been in a long time, and she found herself truly wishing that her vacation would last longer, if more moments like this could be had. When they were finished, Marshall took her plate with his to the sink, but she made it a point to follow with their salads.

"Let me help with the dishes, at least," she begged, coming up beside him.

He shook his head firmly. "No one does dishes on vacation."

"Come on, Marshall, please? You've done so much for me this week. Getting me flights home, forcing Tony out of bed, putting me up in your house, creating this amazing dinner, taking my dress to the freaking dry-cleaners!" She leaned on the counter and looked up at him. "Please, just let me help you with the dishes!"

He looked at her thoughtfully. "Are you keeping score or something?"

"No, but how often to I offer to help with anything, hmm?"

She had him there, and he knew it. He sighed and rolled his eyes. "Fine, you can help with the dishes. But only because I know you'll never do this again and I need to see it to believe it."

She laughed triumphantly and ran back to the table for more dishes, then almost gleefully filled up the sink with soapy water, scrubbing the dishes intently.

Marshall smiled as he rolled up his sleeves. "I can't believe you are this excited about dishes."

"Oh, it's not the dishes," she said mysteriously as she handed him a sudsy plate.

Wariness rolled through him, and he glared at her. "You wouldn't—"

With an evil grin, she flicked soapy water at him, dousing a small portion of his blue and white pinstriped shirt. "I so would!"

Not to be out done by his impulsive partner, he set the plate he currently held into the hot water, then grabbed a handful of suds and flung them artfully at her. They landed squarely on her chest and he laughed out loud at her shocked expression. There was a brief moment of silence, and then all hell broke loose.

The next few minutes were chaos as bubbles and water flew in all directions, and very few dishes came close to being cleaned. Towels were dampened and flicked, bubbles smeared on

faces and in hair, and the floor was soon slick enough to cause each of them to lose footing. But eventually, the battle died down and its warriors, drenched and exhilarated, managed to clear away the remains of dinner.

"I should have known it was too good to be true," Marshall laughed as he dried the floor with a towel.

"Hey, we _did_ get the dishes clean, buster," Mary pointed out as she rung out her hair in the sink.

He snorted and looked up at her. "Yeah, but at what cost?"

She grinned and shrugged. "What can I say? I'm perpetually five when bubbles come into play."

He shook his head, smirking. "Why don't you go get changed, and we'll break out the rest of the pie?"

"Sounds good. You'd better get out of that shirt, too. I can count your abs." She cocked her head as she looked him over. "Hmm, not bad at all."

She walked out of the room then, and thus missed the third appearance of a stunned expression on Marshall's face that night. He blew out a gust of air in frustration and took the sopping towel to his laundry room, then headed for his bedroom.

Mary returned a few minutes later to find Marshall not only changed, but holding the remains of the pie and two forks. He cocked his head towards the living room. "Come on. I think it's past time we talked, don't you?"

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**I'm so mean. Who cliff hangs like that? Seriously... Well, review anyway! More is coming, I PROMISE! =)**


	9. Chapter 9: Time to talk

WOW! You guys are so great that I can't wait any longer to post this next chapter. Just one more after this one and we are finished! Makes me a little sad... Anyway, enjoy!

I don't own jack. Thanks for the reminder.

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"I think it's past time we talked, don't you?"

Mary swallowed hard, all evidence of laughter evaporating. But he was right. It was past time. And he deserved some answers. She nodded and followed him into the living room, taking a seat on the far side of the couch.

For a long moment, they just sat there, her staring at the coffee table in front of her, him staring at her. Mary shifted anxiously in her seat under his scrutiny, wondering when the interrogation would begin. He should just get it over with, so they could get back to their lives.

Except it wouldn't get back to normal. Not after this. This would change everything. Once he heard how pathetic she really was, what was at the heart of this whole vacation mess, he wouldn't want to be anywhere near her. Oh, sure, they'd still be partners, he'd still be her best friend. But there would be no talk of "them". No conversation to follow up on his little speech he'd blasted her with before he left. Who would want to get involved with someone who got so hung up by an ex that she was unable to function like a normal human being?

Marshall thought he knew her. Well, he did know her, but he didn't know this. And just as she always did, she would push him away, and would be left to find someone else to fill the gaps.

"Mary," he said gently, a hint of smile in his voice. "Relax. It's just me."

She looked over at him and saw the earnestness in his gaze, the concern, the protectiveness, the desire to help her… Marshall being Marshall, as always. No judgment, no recriminations, no expectations. Just her friend, her partner. Just like normal. Regardless of what happened after this, of what it meant for them, she would always have this. It was exactly what she needed.

She nodded, and sat back against the couch, pulled her feet up underneath her, and rubbed her hands over her face. "Ok. Where do you want me to start?"

"I think the beginning is always advisable."

She rolled her eyes and slapped at his arm. "I'm serious!"

"So am I," he replied calmly, leaning one elbow on the back of the couch, watching her steadily.

"Fine, ok." She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "I left for my not-so-secret vacation pretty much right after we finished with Gabe, right after you gave me that spiel on what I need. It made for quite a pondersome time of it."

" 'Pondersome' is not a word," Marshall murmured with a smile.

"Shut up, you'll get your turn later. Anyway, I spent a lot of time thinking about…things. About people, about myself…and it was nice to get away for a bit, to have that time. But it got to be too much pretty quickly. I'm not used to looking at myself so closely. I didn't like it. And then you called because of that stupid dream." She frowned at him playfully.

He winced. "I said I was sorry."

"I know. Can I ask…why did you really call about that?" If she was going to open up, he'd damn well have to as well.

He shifted uncomfortably, met her eyes, and sighed. "I called because I couldn't stand the thought of you with him. I've never liked the way he looks at you, the way he speaks with you, his entire attitude towards you. Something about him just raises my hackles and heightens my protective instincts. The very idea of you engaging in something of that nature with him…" He shook his head, his brow furrowing. "I couldn't take the chance that it might be real. I know that it would have been none of my affair if you had decided to do it, but where you are concerned, Mary, sometimes that line of what is and is not my business gets pretty indistinct for me. I cross it more than you'd like, and I know it, but my only explanation is that I care more about you than I probably should." He shrugged, the action attempting to offset the emotion she saw in his eyes. "We all have our own Achilles heels, and it just so happens that you're mine."

Mary swallowed down the sudden flare of emotions at his words. An odd warmth was filling her, and she felt a slight burning in her eyes. She shook her head hastily, and sniffed. "That's ridiculous, Marshall. But thank you."

One side of his mouth quirked upwards into a smile, but he said nothing further.

"Anyway, um…where was I?" Damn him for throwing her off like that!

"You had been doing too much introspection," he reminded her quietly.

She nodded. "I thought I was getting it all figured out, that I finally was going to clean out all the skeletons in my closet and be ready for change. And then…" She trailed off, biting her lip.

"And then Raph bumped into you."

She met his eyes, then looked away. "It shouldn't have bothered me like it did. It really bothers me that it bothered me. Does that make any sense?"

She saw Marshall nod slowly once out of the corner of her eye.

"It wouldn't have been so bad if it had just been him. We might have chatted a bit, got caught up, but that would have been it. But when I saw her…when I saw the ring on her finger…" She shook her head, her eyes tingling with tears. "So fast," she whispered. "How could that happen so fast? It took us years to even move in together. I thought what we had was good, not perfect, but good. But when I saw him with her…"

She looked up at him and he was shocked to see the vulnerability in her eyes.

"They were so happy, Marshall. What I had with him wasn't even on the same radar. I feel like we wasted all that time we spent together. He could have been happier, I could have been happier, I think. And I can't see what…" She couldn't finish and looked away.

"Mary," Marshall said softly, reaching out to touch her knee. "It's ok. Tell me."

She shook her head, but said nothing.

"Why not?"

"It's nothing, really. It's stupid and pathetic, and you'll run away, and I wouldn't blame you. I'll be fine, don't worry about it."

Marshall let out a frustrated growl of sorts, and leaned forward, gripping her knee tightly in one hand. "I will always be here for you, you know that. I'm not going to run away. Ever. I am your best friend, Mare, but even with me, you have these walls that I can't penetrate, parts of you that you refuse to let me into. Don't shut me out now. Let me help you. Please."

She looked into his eyes, fear and embarrassment rampant in her green depths. He hoped she could tell how much he loved her, that she could trust him, that he wasn't going to abandon her. They couldn't move forward until they cleared the air, and he was desperate for her to open up to him, to give a little of herself to his keeping.

Mary battled with herself for a few moments. She should trust him, but could she really let him see this insecure, pathetic, scared side of her? Then she heard Tony's voice in her head: _He is an intelligent, generous, caring man and he never does anything without reason. He is someone you can trust in and believe in without question._ Well, he said she needed messy, and then practically offered himself up…let's see just how much mess he could handle.

She closed her eyes and threaded her hands between her legs. "Marshall, I just…" She dropped her head and sighed. "I don't know." She leaned back against his couch and turned her head to look at him. "I couldn't make Raph happy enough. He said I didn't love him enough. But obviously, Teresa does. Why couldn't I? What does she have that I don't?"

Marshall looked at her silently, watching her, waiting for her to reach the heart of the matter.

"Everybody knows that I'm emotionally disabled," Mary said, rubbing her hands together. "I push and push and push, and it has to be what I want all of the time. I know it, and I've tried, but I can't do anything about it. I can't pretend to be something I'm not."

"Who is asking you to be?" he asked gently.

She shrugged. "No one. Everyone. Well," she said, rolling her eyes a bit, "not you."

He smiled softly and she went on.

"But Raph loved me. Or he tried to, at least. As much as I would let him. And the reason it ended, the real reason, was that I didn't love him the way he wanted me to. We both realized that we were only seeing what we wanted to see in each other. It worked for a while, obviously. It filled the holes we had. Or covered them up, at least."

"Drape a sheet over the elephant in the room," Marshall murmured.

She nodded, and brought a hand up to rub at her forehead. "I'm not sure what would have happened if he hadn't said anything, if he'd just gone along with it. I probably would have married him eventually."

"Why? If you knew it wasn't right, why?"

"It's hard to explain, but it was nice for someone to love me. To not ask anything of me but to love him back. Someone I didn't have to watch out for and protect and clean up messes after."

Marshall frowned, his blue eyes darkening with his thoughts. "You would have married him because he was an oasis in the desert of your life?"

"Yeah, sure, if you wanna put it in flowery poetic terms. He was a breath of fresh air." She snorted and shook her head. "It wasn't fair to him. He couldn't be that for me, not when I wouldn't be as much for him in return. That's why I didn't say anything, why I didn't call him back, why I didn't keep it going after we slept together again. It would all come back to him wanting more than I could give, and me expecting him to be something he wasn't."

"What did you want him to be?"

_You_. Mary almost gasped as the word flashed across her mind. But it was true, she knew it immediately. She swallowed the word, not ready to admit something so bold out loud, and shrugged. "I'm not sure. But answer me this, Marshall: what am I missing that I couldn't give him what he wanted? I mean, I know I'm a hopeless case, but is that all it is? What's the big secret about making things work that I don't seem to know? And you have to be honest, don't give me a bunch of lines to make me feel better."

"I wouldn't do that," he murmured, shifting in his seat. "You know that I'll be honest with you, but I don't think there's any key trait that you lack that made your relationship with Raph less than his current one with Teresa."

"But—"

He stopped her words with a hand to her lips, and gave her a look that told her he was not finished. "You once told me that you knew you should have felt happier about your relationship. That you wanted something that was just right, free from argument and doubt."

Mary was unwittingly transfixed. He remembered that random conversation they'd had while chasing Wade all those months ago?

"I sensed then that you were trying to convince yourself that your relationship was good enough, but you knew it wasn't. Those things you shared with me prove that there is nothing wrong with you. There is nothing hopeless about you. If anything, you are the epitome of hope. You know what you want and, though you have yet to find it, you seek for it all the same. Just because you could not force your relationship with Raph to be the relationship both of you envisioned does not mean that you are somehow faulty or flawed. It is in our nature to resist conformity to a degree. We none of us want to be coerced into becoming something we are inherently not. You are being true to yourself, Mary, which is one of the most commendable things about you. And you did make Raph happy, for the time you were together. Anyone could see that. Does Teresa make him happier? Possibly. But that is no reflection on you, merely the proof that she is a better fit for his needs."

"That's not how it feels," she said softly, almost to herself.

"Hey," he scolded softly, reaching out to touch her shoulder. "Don't do this to yourself. You are not less of a person, or less of a woman, because you were not perfect for one man. All of us search for the missing pieces of ourselves in others, trying to complete our personal puzzles, and while he had much of what you wanted, he did not have it all. That is his problem, not yours. You deserve someone who knows you and accepts you for exactly what and who you are without reservation or exception. Stop blaming yourself for something that is not, and could never be, your fault."

She shook her head, tears starting to form again. She needed to force this vulnerability away, had to stop the emotional overloads. She could not be weak anymore; she would not.

Marshall sighed softly, and rubbed her shoulder again. "I said once before that you were 'the girl for whom no man will ever be good enough'. I meant that. There isn't a man good enough for you, not because you have some strict high-arching standard all men must meet, or because you feel you are somehow above any man, but because you actually are. There is no man on this earth that could ever be your equal. That doesn't mean that you have to settle or be alone for the rest of your life, but you need to understand just how special you really are and let someone who sees that treat you as such. Let someone help you, Mary, let someone see you with your guard down once in a while. You don't have to be strong all the time."

"I'm not," she whispered, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear and looking down at her knees. "You know I'm not. And you're the only one who does."

He took her hands from between her knees and held them in his own, squeezing them gently. "You are!" he insisted. "You are the strongest woman, hell, the strongest _person_ I know. You have this unconquerable spirit and energy, this indomitable will to go forth and seize whatever it is that you desire, and you don't rest until you have it. I am constantly amazed, not to mention exasperated, by those very parts of you. Just because you have moments where you feel that your emotions are overpowering you doesn't mean you are weak, or that you have somehow sunk from the impossible heights you are so accustomed to inhabiting. It's a normal reaction to your continued efforts to restrain that more human part of you, that pure, untarnished piece of your soul that you so rarely let anyone see. I consider it a privilege to have even the smallest glimpse into it, Mary, and I wish you could see within yourself what I see in you."

The tears that had begun to well in Mary's green eyes threatened to spill over, but before she would let them, she crawled from her seat to wrap her arms around Marshall and buried her face in his chest. He enfolded her in his own arms and just held her close, knowing she didn't need him to say anything further.

"How can you possibly know me so well?" she asked after a long moment, sniffing back any further trace of tears.

He shrugged, rubbing small circles on her back. "We're partners and best friends. It sort of comes with the territory, I suppose. Or it could be my remarkably observant nature."

"Well, in case I never get around to telling you again," she said softly, reaching up to kiss his cheek, "I just want you to know that you are the best friend anyone could ever want. I know you think that I am, but I'm not. It's you."

Marshall swallowed quickly and forced himself to grin down at her. "Even though I am going to eat the rest of the pie and leave none for you?"

She pulled back, her eyes flashing. "Are not! You do and you'll never work another piece of origami again!"

Whatever spell had held them captive was now broken as they both surged for the pie, laughing and eating and spearing each other all at the same time. In the back of his mind, Marshall scolded himself for backing away from the topic they had begun to approach, and he had nearly breached himself. But after seeing Mary lay herself so bare, so raw and open and vulnerable, he could not take that additional leap. She wasn't ready for that, not yet. One step at a time, and soon, rather soon if things progressed as they seemed to be, they would be able to talk about their future…as partners of an entirely different kind.

* * *

**I apologize for all of you who now want to shoot me. But come on, did you really think I wouldn't draw this out? It's coming, I swear, and it will SOOOOOO be worth it. Reviews please! =) And you all get brownies for your patience.**


	10. Chapter 10: No words unspoken

This is it! We've reached the end! FINALLY we'll get some sort of resolution! Hope you all feel warm and fuzzy by the end! Thanks for sticking with me for my first multi-chapter story, and keep your eyes out for more! BIG thanks to slumbajam for being my proof-reader/brainstorm buddy, and to BuJyo for helping me get it off the ground in the first place and encouraging me along the way. You guys rock!

IPS is not mine. Marshall is not mine...sniffle.

* * *

Marshall left early the next morning, this time without a note or a Danish for her. He did, however, leave her a plate of leftovers to take home with her. She smiled, and wished he would have waited for her before heading out. Last night had been wonderful for her, and she knew that she hadn't told him that. But how could one say simply thank you for everything that he had done? So many hurts he had healed just by listening, just by being, and just by holding her. It had been Marshall at his finest, doing what he did best.

She frowned and went to take a shower and collect her belongings. Vacation was over, reality had to restart. But what reality would it be? She knew there were more things to say, more things Marshall wanted to ask. But he was too much of a gentleman to push her on this. He wouldn't ask her again until he thought she was ready.

The problem was this: she didn't know if or when she'd ever be ready, really ready, for what he was offering. It was a huge chance she would be taking, and she was scared enough to admit that she was scared, which said a lot.

She forced herself to focus on getting out of Marshall's house, out of his hair, out from under his watchful eye. He had put up with enough for long enough.

An hour or so later, she was ready. She looked around his house a bit mournfully. It had been a better vacation here than it had been in Hawaii, and she didn't want to leave. But enough was enough. There were things to do: a house to reclaim, a bag to unpack, thoughts to settle…

Emotions to identify…

She needed vacation to end. It was way too complicated for her to handle.

* * *

That night, as she reheated the leftovers in her microwave, she was no less unsettled and confused than she had been before. Home had proved distraction enough for a while, as she'd had to straighten up after the not-so-secret party and unpack, and then chew out her family members for their antics. But now, as the smells from the night before revisited her, reminding her of what had transpired, of what she had felt, of what he'd said…

Tomorrow they'd be back at work. What would he say? How would he look? She knew that she'd be wondering all day, trying to gauge his emotions and thoughts. She'd try to tease it out of him, but he was thick-skinned, he would give away nothing. And she would be left to wondering. Their banter would resume, and anything that could be taken as suggestive would set her right back to wondering.

She couldn't live like that. She had no idea how Marshall had done it all these years, because he _obviously_ had, but she was not that patient. He was right about her: when she wanted something, she went straight out and got it. And what she wanted was Marshall.

Her mouth gaped open with a faint pop. It really was that simple. She wanted Marshall. All to herself. All the time. She _loved_ him. She loved his idiotic trivia, his quirky smile, his inability to stand on the sidelines anytime. She had wanted Raph to be Marshall because _she wanted Marshall_. She swore viciously and slapped her forehead. She was the biggest idiot in the entire world. Of course she wanted Marshall, of course she loved Marshall, how could she not? How did she miss it? What the freaking hell was wrong with her? He'd been right in front of her, loving her all along, and she'd missed it!

The microwave dinged and she jerked in surprise, her thoughts slamming to a screeching halt. There was no way in hell she was gonna play any more games. No more waiting, no more dancing around the subject, and no more distractions.

She completely ignored the microwave as she ran out of the kitchen for shoes and her keys, and thirty seconds later she was on the road, breaking any and all speed limits as she raced back to his house. Tonight was going to be it. Lay it all out, let him decide what the next move was. She was going to jump all in. She was scared out of her mind, but with Marshall, she knew she would be safe.

She screeched into his driveway and saw that a light was still on inside.

Her heart pounded frantically in her chest and she took a brief moment to breathe. There would be no turning back after this. But she didn't want to turn back, and she was pretty sure he wouldn't want to either.

What she would say to him, she had no idea. There were a lot of things that needed to be said and there was no way she could say it all, and she'd probably screw it up, but there were some things she absolutely had to say. It was important that Marshall knew everything, if he didn't already.

"Ok," she said to herself as she exhaled slowly. "Game on."

She got out of the car and jogged up to his door. She hesitated only for a moment, then started banging on the door. She could hear the footsteps inside and stepped back, trying to keep herself from bouncing in anticipation.

"Mary, what's wrong?" Marshall asked when he opened the door. His expression was one of genuine surprise and genuine concern, and there was definitely a trace of genuine fear there was well. Idiot man, he shouldn't have to be afraid of anything she would say to him in the middle of the night.

She shook her head and folded her arms. "Nothing, nothing's wrong. Well, something is, but not in the way you're thinking."

"Come in," he urged, stepping aside.

She looked around. "Actually, could we just stay out here?"

Something flashed in his eyes, and he nodded, stepping back to get a pair of shoes, then coming out on the porch with her, closing the door behind him. "What's up?"

She exhaled sharply, looked down at the ground for a moment, then back up at him. "I'm an idiot." That seemed as good a place to start as any.

His eyebrows shot upward, and he cocked his head slightly. "Come again?"

"I said I'm an idiot, Marshall."

"That's what I thought you said," he murmured, still looking at her strangely. "What's brought all of this on?"

"You said I needed to stop looking for anyone and look for someone," she said, looking away from him. "That maybe I needed messy in my life. That letting off steam wasn't what I needed." She glanced down at her toes, then up at him, her eyes holding a touch of fear. "You said I needed someone who challenges me, who calls me on my BS, gets in my face, and makes me think."

Marshall said nothing. How could he? She remembered what he had said, almost verbatim, and was quoting it back to him. He could hardly breathe at this moment, not sure where this was going or how it was going to end. He stared back at her, hoping his expression was as vacant as he was trying to make it.

"You were right," she said softly. "And I think you know there's only one person who does all of that."

It was impossible to remain impassive after that. He visibly jerked and his fingers clenched slightly. If she was saying what he thought she was saying…

"I've done a lot of thinking over the past few days, and, besides the fact that I've been an idiot, I found a few other things that I know I need."

She took a small step towards him, her eyes focused on his. "I need someone who keeps me grounded. Someone who gives me a reality check. Someone who reminds me that there is good in this crummy world. Someone who will stand beside me even when I'm an idiot. Someone who always has my back."

Marshall was reeling. So many thoughts and emotions were swirling in and around him that he couldn't tell which ones were stronger than others. Confusion, hope, fear, disbelief…all blended in a torrent of sensation, and it was all he could do to remain upright.

Mary exhaled, and he could see the sheen of tears starting in her beautiful green eyes. "I've been an idiot, Marshall," she said again, swallowing hard. "I've been one _hell_ of an idiot because I didn't see what was right in front of me. You are my someone, Marshall."

He couldn't help the small, involuntary gasp that escaped him as his knees nearly buckled at her words. Hope currently took an impossible lead in his emotional cacophony and suddenly, the door he was leaning on was his only support.

"You asked me last night what I wanted Raph to be. Well, I lied to you. I know exactly what I wanted him to be: I wanted him to be you." She swallowed hastily, and shifted restlessly. "You have always been my everything, Marshall, from the very first case. You're my partner, my best friend, my rabbi, my therapist, my enabler…my Achilles heel…You are the only one who has always been there for me, without fail. You are the only person on this planet that understands me. You know what I need before I do. You know me inside and outside, good and bad, upside down and inside out, and you're still here." Her voice was shaking now, and even in the dim light, Marshall could see the streaks on her cheeks left by tears. "You're still here," she repeated.

"Mary…" he whispered, unable to believe what he was hearing.

"I think…" she managed, in a small, but steadier voice, "I think you love me, Marshall Mann. I think you _love_ _me_ love me. And I think you always have."

All of the breath in his lungs vanished as his chest tightened. He somehow managed to swallow the massive lump that was suddenly constricting his airway and vocal chords, and his mind struggled to find the right words to respond with.

Mary was fighting for control, crying freely now, wrapping her arms more securely around herself. One last thing to get out, and then it would be out of her hands completely, ball in his court, and she would have to wait and hope that she hadn't screwed things up too much. "And I think I love you, too. I love you, and I am so sorry that I've wasted so much time, that it's taken me this long to—"

She was cut off by Marshall's lips suddenly melding with hers as he had taken her face in his hands, and was even now pulling her closer. A small whimper of relief and need escaped her as she wrapped her arms around him. His kiss was fierce and possessive, leaving no doubt of his feelings for her, and then it was gentle and caressing, his lips soothing her troubled state into something far more pleasant. The passion radiating from his kiss, from _him_, took her breath away and she clung to him, pressing herself closer, feeling the heat from him and between them as it continued to spiral upward, threatening to burn them both, but neither caring.

He broke off with a gasp, ran his lips softly along her brow, and touched his forehead to hers, their breathing labored and erratic.

"Holy crap," she whispered, one hand reaching up for the back of his neck.

"Yeah, I think that about covers it," he replied, his thumbs stroking the underside of her jaw.

She exhaled sharply, heart still pounding. "Why didn't we do that a long time ago?"

He shook his head against her. "I wanted to. So many times, I wanted to."

Tears rose again, and she gripped his neck tightly. "I'm sorry."

"No," he said firmly, kissing her again, lingering for a few moments, and then softly kissing away the few tears that had fallen. "No, Mary. There's not going to be any looking back. No regrets."

"Ok," she sighed. Then she brought her other hand up to cup the back of his neck with the other. "Marshall,…I'm scared. I know I shouldn't be, but—"

He kissed her softly, silencing her again. "I know. It's ok. I'm scared too. But it's just you and me, all in, no holds barred, taking it one day at a time. I love you, and you love me, right?"

There was a faint trace of disbelief in his voice, which she immediately proceeded to kiss away. "Right."

"Ok," he said, breathless and relieved. "We're good, then. Right?"

She nodded and took a deep breath, then pulled back just enough to look up at him. "So now what?" She grinned mischievously. "Are you going to take me inside and have your wicked way with me?"

He took in a would-be steadying breath and closed his eyes momentarily. "As much as I would love to experience your sexual wiles that I have dreamed so much about," he paused briefly, ignoring her outburst of "I knew it!", and smiling down at her, "I don't think we should."

She stilled in his arms and he caught the almost imperceptible flash of hurt. He cupped her cheeks and forced her to meet his eyes. "Mary," he said softly, stroking her cheeks with his thumbs, "I have slightly more control out here with the cold night air than I would inside. I think… I _hope_ it's obvious how badly I want you, how much I would enjoy making love to you, with you, but we both know that we need to take our time. This isn't something we need to rush." He held her even more tightly, and emphasized his next words, making sure she understood them: "I am not going anywhere."

She searched his eyes for a brief minute, then smiled gently. "Me neither," she murmured, tugging him closer for a soft kiss.

"Anyway," he said, running his hands up and down her sides, "things are going to be messy enough as it is." Suddenly, he groaned, and touched his forehead to hers again.

"What?"

"Stan is going to kill us."

Mary smiled, but shrugged. "Bring it on. He's got two options: have us together, or have neither of us. Which do you think he'll go for?"

Marshall grinned in response and pulled her in closer. "You make a good argument."

"Besides," she sighed, kissing him again, "I think I could enjoy messy."

* * *

The next morning, Marshall was anxious. Once again, his night had been plagued by dreams, once he'd actually been able to sleep. Only this time, the dreams had involved Mary coming into the office and telling him that she'd made a terrible mistake, that she wasn't ready, that she was transferring to another city because she couldn't take it. Some of them had been pretty far-fetched, but that didn't stop him from fearing that there would be truth in his reality. What if she developed a strange emotional buyer's remorse and decided she didn't want to be with him after all? He wouldn't be able to bear it.

His heart stuttered in his chest when he heard the doors to the office open. He studiously avoided turning to look at her, to gauge her emotions. She wouldn't need to see his anxiety, his fear. She was going to be the driver in this relationship, and he merely the navigator.

"Wow, I actually missed this place," Mary said almost brightly as she walked straight over to her desk and dropped her bag. "Crazy. That'll wear off before lunch." She turned to look at him, but he was staring at his computer screen, trying to appear focused on his newest witnesses. "Whatcha got there?" she asked.

His eyes involuntarily flicked to her and he smiled at the rampant curiosity on her face. "New witnesses, the ones you missed out on."

She grinned. "The reason you're Dopey in the House of Dwarves?" She came over and stood beside his chair, one arm around the back, the other propped on his desk as she leaned over to look at the screen, bringing her body impossibly close to his. She wasn't acting any differently, but he couldn't be sure if that was a good indication or a bad one.

"Holy crap! Five kids under the age of six? What'd this couple do, rob an orphanage?" Her disgust was genuine, totally Mary, and while it was encouraging for Marshall to see, he couldn't help but he a little wary. What was she thinking about? What was she feeling? Was anything going to change between them based on last night's confessions and actions? It was difficult to say…but she was still leaning rather close for comfort.

All of a sudden, his hand was covered by hers, her fingers somehow finding their way in between his. He looked over at her to see her watching Stan's office like a hawk, even as she moved her other arm from his chair to rest on his shoulder. He glanced at that hand, feeling more than a little tossed about. So…she wasn't regretting last night, then? Things were going to change between them after all?

He found himself grinning far too broadly, but it couldn't be helped. He had Mary.

Her lips pressed into the side of his head softly, but lingering, dancing by his ear. "Hi," she breathed, almost too quietly for him to hear.

"Hi," he managed to get out as he attempted to control his smile.

"I missed you last night," she said in the same low, husky tone, kissing his ear quickly and nuzzling the soft, sensitive spot behind it. He shuddered at the contact, and felt her smile against his skin. She squeezed his shoulder tightly before she pushed away and returned to her desk, leaving him rather flustered.

Heat flared across his entire body and he could only swallow hastily as certain images invaded his mind. He watched her walk away, and saw the quirky smile she flashed at him that said she knew exactly what she had just done to him. He was torn between relief that she did, it seemed, still want to be with him, and frustration that he was so susceptible to any and all of her ploys. Things were going to be very interesting from now on, if she wanted to play with him like this. Her continued smirk told him she was enjoying this thoroughly.

_What have I gotten myself into?_ he thought, clearing his throat slightly as he saw Stan coming out of his office. _Deep breaths…deep breaths…_

Mary snickered quietly at Marshall's very obvious discomfort. Stan noticed it as well and gave her a questioning look. She shrugged as if clueless, then smiled brightly at him.

"Stan the Man, hard to believe this, but I actually missed you."

He smiled back. "It is hard to believe, Inspector, but I thank you anyway."

"Looking a little tired there, Stan. What gives?" Mary asked, glancing over at Marshall again. His ears were returning to a normal shade, finally, and he was now watching her interaction with their boss and wearing a carefully controlled expression. She could fix that. She looked back up at Stan, who was apparently oblivious.

Stan shrugged. "Oh, you know, Marshall's new witnesses have been taking a toll on all of us. Those kids are more terrorizing than the Taliban and a lot less pleasant."

"Hmm, sounds like a fun time."

"Oh, yeah, hilarious," he said on a sigh.

"Maybe you should get away for a while, Stan," Mary suggested innocently enough. She leveled a heated look at Marshall, and was gratified to see his controlled expression falter and watched him squirm slightly, his eyes darkening as he managed a tight smile.

She smiled widely in return, loving that idiot more for the potential those eyes held for them, for everything she had found in him. They had all the time in the world, and she wasn't going to waste a single moment further.

She turned her chair back to Stan, her eyes still fixed on Marshall. "Try a vacation, Stan. It did wonders for me."

* * *

**YAY! I hope you guys enjoyed it! I'm so sad it's over! It's been a blast! Final reviews, please! And brownie SUNDAES to you all for not killing me. =)**


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